


Sherlock

by Tigresse



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Family Drama, Humor, M/M, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2019-10-03 19:18:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 56,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17289863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tigresse/pseuds/Tigresse
Summary: Destiny is like the sea. What it takes away, will be returned in due course of time.Also, a sexy young Sherlock and a closeted but horny John Watson





	1. Chapter 1

“You need to open up and talk John, without that I cannot help.”

 

John Hamish Watson stared at the paperweight on the coffee table. It was a pretty piece, gifted to the doctor by her partner who traveled the world and bought rare pieces like this for her, as ‘returning home’ gifts. It was a crystal pebble, with beautiful green and yellow leaves inside, surrounding a blue and magenta winged butterfly.

 

Even the table on which it stood was exquisite. The beautiful marble table was from Jordan, with hand-carved legs and ornate blue and gold work on the top. It stood between the chaise lounge he was sitting on and the lounge chair on which Dr. Louise Mortimer, a renowned psychiatrist, sat with her recording device and her notebook and pen. Sometimes John wondered if, like that table, something else stood between him and his shrink. Something that blocked him from speaking his mind even during private therapy sessions with her. She was a fine doctor, highly recommended, but he could hardly talk to her beyond the daily nitty-gritty items that bothered him.

 

“I saved three lives today,” he said, clearing his throat, “One person had internal bleeding. The gall bladder was……”

 

“John, usually I never stop my patients from talking to me about anything,” Louise said gently, “But as usual you’re trying to move away from the topics we should be discussing. I know you are a very capable and respected surgeon. Your expertise is at the level of a world-class medical professional who is coveted both in medical research as well as the operation theater. Half a dozen clinics would give you a blank cheque to join their services as a practicing surgeon or a consultant. But the reason Mike Stamford introduced us was different.”

 

“I like talking about my work,” John muttered.

 

“We all do, don’t we?” She said, “But what you need to really talk about is your depression. You attempted suicide John. The word isn’t out because Mike and Molly are very fond of you and they somehow protected your reputation. If they weren’t there, you could have had your license suspended.”

 

“I am aware.”

“Then do something about it. Allow me to help.”

 

“I am trying.”

 

“Can I ask some questions then? Maybe that will make things easier for you. All you have to do is give me some answers. Shall I proceed?”

 

She looked into his face which had a cloud of uncertainty on it. His body language was tense, closed and she noted how, during all the six sessions they had had so far, he had always refused to lie down on the chaise. He always sat on it, back straight as a rod, tension seeping out of his pores. “Okay, I am going to ask the first question,” she said after almost a minute’s silence, “Do you blame yourself for the death of your wife and unborn child?”

 

The blow struck home and John’s breath caught in his throat. His past came back to him in the form of several images that flashed past, like the scene by scene reconstruct of a motion picture. He saw his late wife, Mary, and himself, in an argument. He remembered the unkind words he had said in what turned out to be their last conversation, how he had ignored the frantic calls for his attention while he was in the middle of a surgery and then discovered that they were from the trauma division where Mary was taking her last breaths. Only after she had passed did he discover she was pregnant, which meant effectively he had lost not just a wife but also a son or daughter.

 

“Shock therapy?” He asked.

 

“No, this is called facing the truth. Taking it head on.”

 

“What if I don’t want to?”

 

“The wounds will still remain, whether you choose to pay attention to them or not. The longer you refuse to nurse and cure them the more they’ll embed themselves into your heart and mind. They’ll penetrate deep into your soul until they become internal wounds. Mark my words, it won’t be so easy to heal them after that. They’ll get infected by your thoughts, your lingering depression and putrefy.”

 

“I doubt if talking would help. It won’t change anything.”

 

“It can help you change the way you’re looking at your life John.”

 

***

 

“Hey Mike!”

 

“Hello Louise. How is it going?”

 

“If by that you mean how am I, how’s work, then it’s all fine. But if you’re talking about your friend and my patient John Watson, then no, things are not going fine. I always prided myself on getting my patients to open up and talk to me, pour out their deepest fears and most dreaded insecurities to me, to allow me to put things into perspective for them. Usually it takes three to four sessions, sometimes six or seven, but by then they are firmly on the road to recovery. However, with John I haven’t moved an inch. This was his sixth session in six weeks and though he attends every weekly session regularly, arrives on time, is unfailingly polite, he doesn’t say a word. All he does, if I pester him, is talk about his profession, patients, that’s all.”

 

She heard Mike Stamford sigh loudly.

 

“Louise, I wanted you to find out on your own, through the proper channels of patient-doctor conversations, but since it’s taken so long and he hasn’t still breathed a word of his past, let me tell you why I felt compelled to recommend your name to him and literally drag him to therapy. Louise, John is a deeply closeted homosexual man who is also homophobic in a way. His parents were homophobic too and, thanks to those two individuals, John and his sister Harriet suffered endlessly. Harriet is a lesbian and when she came out to her family, she was kicked out bag and baggage from the house. She became an alcoholic and went into rehab as a result and John became traumatized by the whole thing. He never came out, in fact he started to see homosexuality as a disease of some kind.”

 

“God, that’s so sad!”

 

“It is, isn’t it? This isn’t all. To maintain the façade of ‘normalcy’ he married a lady named Mary who used to work with us at some point as a receptionist. But from what I know and made educated guesses from, they never really got along as a couple. She blamed him for cheating her of happiness and a normal conjugal life by pulling the rug on something so important.”

 

“She didn’t know?”

 

“He never told her. Then she died suddenly in an accident and she was…..pregnant at that time. A month later he confessed to his mum who stopped talking to him. A week later she died of a heart attack and he still believes it was the result of him coming out.”

 

“He has deep-rooted issues. I can see why. But the only person who can help John Watson at this point is John Watson. Not even me. For me to help him, I need him to talk. There is medication, there are other methods of therapy, there is counselling, but he bottles up…..”

 

“What do we do now?”

 

“I don’t know about you Mike. But at this point there is nothing I can do. There is nothing he will let me do.”

 

***

 

John parked his BMW 7 series in a dark alley, locked all doors, reclined his seat and closed his eyes. He needed a few moments or he’d end up causing some accident.

 

Too many memories were hitting him left, right and center and in the midst of heavy London traffic he didn’t want to drive in a distracted state. He could end up harming other motorists and pedestrians.

 

After almost ten minutes he was scrolling through the contact list on his phone, wondering which of his former colleagues he could call. He had once been an army surgeon and held the rank of a captain. He had served for almost four years, saving the lives of many of England’s brave soldiers and sometimes even decimating an enemy or two when their base was attacked repeatedly by the guerilla units of the enemy. Truth be told, that was the best period of his life and those men he worked with were still the sort of friends who would give him solid and practical advice.

 

He stopped scrolling and selected one number that belonged to Colonel Sebastian Augustus Moran. One of the best snipers in the world who had risen through the ranks at a phenomenal rate and was the son of an English Lord. John held a lot of respect for him, even though Sebastian had been dishonorably discharged two years ago after he had gunned down several members of his own unit when he had caught them stealing rations and selling them off to a local trader. To John, Sebastian Moran stood for all things strong, talented, ethical and symbolic of self-respect. He was, by far, the most sorted and stable man he knew. Nothing could get that colonel down, nothing!

 

“Hi there Johnny boy!”

 

“Colonel, how are things?”

 

“Good. I might have good news for you soon.”

 

“Your fiancé agreed to marry you?”

 

“Nope. He doesn’t believe in marriage. But he’s okay for us to have a baby through a surrogate, as long as I do the diaper duty and feeding at night….from a bottle of course.”

 

John laughed, feeling better already, “Congratz then!”

 

“Save it for the day the surrogate is pregnant and I truly have a good news to give. Right now we have identified and interviewed her, made the first payment to the clinic and Jim agreed to empty out a room so we can earmark that for a future nursery.”

 

“I am happy for you.”

 

Sebastian’s deep baritone was softer the next time he spoke. “I am happy too. Business is great, life is great, the relationship is going strong. But enough of me. I am sure you called for a reason and I might even have an idea what it is.”

 

“You do?” John hoped his behavior or tone was not such a giveaway, “Do I sound like such a loser Seb?”

 

“After going through what you’ve gone through John, it’s hard not to be down in the doldrums for a while. Any normal person would.”

 

“Mike thinks I should go for therapy,” John burst out, “He’s telling me that talking to a perfect stranger will solve my problems, that by baring all my secrets, my dark secrets to a doctor will result in some miracle cure to my woes. The shrink thinks that if I don’t talk I am doing more self-harm. I had not really attempted suicide, I had just overdosed slightly. They are making a big deal out of it. Yeah, I do drink a bit more than before, yes I don’t talk or smile as much as before but then….what else can you expect from a man who has lost his wife and unborn child five months ago and his mum about four months ago?”

 

“John…..you need to take it easy man. You need to take it easy and have fun, do things that you really wish to do. Rather than immersing yourself in work and more work, go on a holiday. Out of country if possible. You have enough and more money, right? Spend it on yourself. Change your wardrobe, your hairstyle, hire a high-class escort and fuck their brains out…..”

 

“Wait-wait…..you’re asking me to go to a whore?”

 

“It is the world’s oldest profession. Why make a big deal out of it? Many celebs from the entertainment industry were rent-boys and rent-girls at some time, for the sake of their career and opportunities. The stigma of a ‘whore’ no longer exists. They give us happiness man, so go for it. Pent up sexual desires often cause a guy to go nuts! It’s a great way to relax, have fun and yet have no strings attached at the end of the day.”

 

“Seb, it’s not something I can do man.”

 

“You can if you wish to. You are a man of thirty-four John, not a kid. You earn more than a million pounds a year as one of the country’s best surgeons. You are not financially or emotionally dependent on anyone. You’re an adult living in a free country. Just do it responsibly, use protection and don’t fall in love with them. Hire them, spend those hours you have paid for enjoying some ‘pleasures’ and see what a difference it makes.”

 

“I am not even out yet…..”

 

“You don’t need to be,” Sebastian said, “Look, I am a practical man. I don’t sugar coat. You parents were hardly the ideal parents. They were austere, lacked affection, never understood their children and always believed they were right. But hey, they’re gone now. I don’t want to say you should hate them because you don’t hate the dead, or people who have brought you into this world. But you don’t need to carry on their legacy and seek their approval even after they’re gone. Live your life freely and without prejudice man! Maybe this is a first step towards coming out. Embrace your sexuality, have fun, distract yourself from the daily woes and you won’t need any shrink to tell you what to do.”

 

“You think so……???”

 

“I believe so,” Sebastian’s voice grew serious, “But John, I am not saying shrinks are not important or people with serious issues or mental illnesses don’t need therapy or medication. But you are not one of those people. Your issues are very common in today’s world, two out of ten men are going through this because of their sexuality and preferences. You don’t have any mental illness, you’re just going through some post-loss trauma and depression, something all of us face at some point in time or the other. If you ask me, you don’t need to take therapy, shrinks or your situation so seriously. Lighten up, spend time on doing things you like, have sex, lots of sex, shop and holiday, play pool, do some target practice, give this a shot for a month or two and if things don’t improve go back to that shrink.”

 

***

 

John felt confused after his conversation with Sebastian but at least he didn’t feel as agitated or unhappy as before. The colonel always had unique and original ways of dealing with situations and people and more often than not those ways worked. Maybe it could work for him too.

 

He pulled up a web page and tried to look for escort services in London, close to his area. He also debated in his mind whether he should bring them home or simply check into a hotel for a night.

 

Suddenly he saw several men run into the alley and his system went into high alert. He immediately reached for the gun he kept with himself all the time, the one he had back in his army days and which still owned and held a license for. But the men ran right past his car and a scuffle ensued between them, followed by a proper fisticuff. John knew he should leave but his curiosity got the better of him and he lowered his windows a little, just a smidge, and listened to their angry shouts.

 

“I will NEVER let you do this,” a young man was shouting, “You will not evict Mrs. Hudson from her home.” In the darkness John could see he was tall, lanky and had curly hair.

 

“How do you propose to stop us, Sherlock?” The other man was shorter, stouter and apparently three aides with him while the other guy ‘Sherlock’ was alone.

 

“Same way I stopped Charles three months ago. I will break your jaw too.”

“Charles was alone. He was an idiot. But I have my men with me.”

 

“Hahaha, really? These minions? Let me at them, let me at them!!!”

 

In a flash John watched the tall lanky youngster take on four men at a time and make mincemeat out of them. But he got a bit alarmed when he saw a fifth man emerge from the shadows, with a baton in his hand. He was going to play dirty and knock ‘Sherlock’ by attacking him from behind.

 

No, he couldn’t let that happen. Without thinking of consequences, John grabbed his gun and stepped out of the car. “Freeze,” he called out in as heavy a voice as he could manage, “Or I won’t hesitate to shoot you all in the kneecaps.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John finds Sherlock to be a far more interesting character than a mere smart-mouth and street smart ruffian.

All five men froze and three of them even raised their hands.

 

John realized his trick had worked. He had an authoritarian tone and often projected himself in a manner that made others feel he was far more important and powerful than he actually was. An old habit from the army days where they were taught to be self-confident, cock-sure of their decisions and bold in the face of adversity. He grinned in the darkness and decided to keep up the façade. “I work with Scotland Yard. If you guys don’t get out of here in ten seconds, I will ensure you don’t get out of prison for ten years. Choice is yours.”

 

The men looked at each other and hesitated for a few seconds, but the moment John pulled the catch back and the clicking sound came, they ran off a top speed like scalded dogs. Even the young man named Sherlock started to run till John blocked his path and pointed the gun straight between his eyes. “Not you,” he said in a stern voice, “You are not going anywhere. I meant them and only them. Sherlock is your name I presume so……Sherlock, you will sit in my car and I shall drop you wherever you need to go. Don’t question my generosity, just know that I am just the sort of man who roots for the underdog and likes desperados who don’t hesitate to help others.”

 

“I can go by myself,” Sherlock replied and John found his voice very impressive. It was all gravelly one moment and baritone the next, with a rich timbre that made him tingly all over.

 

“Yeah and what if those miscreants are waiting for you at the next alley?”

 

“Oh, Rex and his men are the biggest cowards I know. They won’t really dare, not tonight.”

“Then we should find a more permanent fix for Mrs. Hudson and ensure they never get a chance to evict her?”

 

“Oh, you heard it all?”

 

“Yeah and I think you were incredibly brave standing up to four men for what you believe is right. But they played dirty, a fifth guy was lurking in the shadows and that was when I decided to intervene.”

 

“What can I say?” Sherlock shrugged, “Thank you, I guess.”

 

“Please,” John said, “Let me drop you home. I want to complete a good deed, if this can be defined as one.”

 

“Okay, since you insist……” Sherlock sat in the car and strapped on his seat belt as John went over to the other side and took his position behind the wheel, “May I at least know the name of my benefactor?”

 

When John started to speak Sherlock surprisingly stopped him. “No, no, wait, wait, let me guess a few things about you,” he said with the enthusiasm of a child, “In fact, I don’t call it guessing. I call it the science of deduction. Your name is John and your last name starts with W. You are a surgeon by profession, you have once served in the army, you were injured in the leg, right leg to be precise and you own a second car besides this Be-Em. You play tennis and swim to stay fit and you do target practice at times. You’re partial to wine or single malt.”

 

John couldn’t stop his jaw from dropping. “H-How,” he asked, “Wait a second, who paid you to spy on me? Are you a private eye?”

 

“What? Oh no, not me,” Sherlock shook his head and even in the semi darkness John could see the brilliant gleam of his perfect pearly whites, “It just observed a few things and deduced. It’s simple really. I see a diary on the backseat, with the name starting with J and last name starting with W. Rest are covered by some loose papers. Couldn’t figure out the last name but the first one had to be four letters, gauging the space between the end of your Christian name and the beginning of your surname. John is the most common one, four letters. Why surgeon? I can smell the sort of liquid hand-wash and skin softener surgeons use post-surgery. Army experience? There is a pic of you on your cell phone wallpaper and I can see your dog tags in that one.”

 

“Jesus,” John was impressed. This man’s intelligence was beyond the normal levels he had noticed in people.

 

“Partial to wine or single malt. That was easy. You have this chibi-figure on your dashboard which is a branded product of Johnny Walker, given only to loyal and special customers as a gift on the manufacturer’s anniversary. There is a book on wines on your backseat, so also a wine drinker and someone who is interested in the origins of his drink, from grape to bottled alcohol. I knew you had an injury in your right leg from the way you sat in the car. You made sure you didn’t put any extra pressure on your right leg. Happens to people who have once had near debilitating injuries to their limbs. Even when it’s all fine they can’t help but ‘protect’ that limb a bit more than others.”

 

“Fantastic,” John exclaimed, “But the other vehicle, how did you find that out?”

 

“Again, I gauged that from the contents I spotted on the backseat of this car. Most of the items I see there are kept or used inside a car and nobody keeps two sets of them in one car. So, you have given the other one for servicing and emptied it out, like people do before dropping it at the service center. Car perfume, dashboard toy, duster, box of tissues and all that.”

 

John’s eyes widened, “Correct! Now explain the swimming, tennis, target practice.”

 

“I smell chlorine in the car. I think you forgot to take out a towel you used at the pool. Tennis, that was a bit of a guess after seeing the marks on your right hand. Happens from holding a racket over a prolonged period of time. Target practice? I smell gunpowder here.”

 

“Yes you must have. I kept some spare ammo, blanks actually, in the dashboard. The ones in this gun are real though.”

 

Sherlock giggled and accidentally one of his long arms struck a button on the dashboard that turned the lights on inside the car. John’s eyes, already wide from the recent spiel Sherlock had delivered, became round as saucers when he took in the first sight of the young man. He was a young adult, perhaps barely out of his teens, with a pale smooth complexion and aquiline features. His face was long, with a beautiful pair of bow shaped lips, sculpted cheekbones and almond shaped eyes that sparkled with the same intelligence he had just displayed. His long nose and slightly irregular jawline somehow complimented each other very well and the overall effect was stunning. He was the sort of man one would call ‘unconventionally beautiful but drop dead gorgeous despite his slight imperfections.

 

“Stop staring,” Sherlock suddenly looked uncomfortable, “Please.”

 

“Sorry,” John apologized, “I am not that kind of man.”

 

“Oh,” Sherlock shrugged, turning out the light, “I was _hoping you were_.”

 

“What? I didn’t get it.”

 

“Well John, I can call you John, right?”

 

“Sure.”

 

“I was hoping you would book me for the night and pay me a nice neat sum. It would help me in so many ways.”

 

John had to hold back on both words and expressions as he heard that. _So this boy was an escort!_ Pity, since he came across as such an intelligent and smart man. Then it struck him that Sebastian had asked him to go for paid sex, to relax and release some tension, feel good for a little while, forget his woes and just live in the moment. It was a happy coincidence that someone who was the answer to his needs was sitting in his car right now. He didn’t need to go through websites, make awkward phone calls or worse, _call a pimp_.

 

“It’s okay,” Sherlock said, looking ahead now, “Just drop me home at 221B Baker Street. I live there, rent-free, at Mrs. Hudson’s house.”

 

“How much for the night?”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Yes, I meant what I said. How much for the night?”

 

Sherlock was taken aback and it showed in the way he had to think through his answer. Maybe he was new in this line or he charged clients according to their status because he didn’t come up with a figure right away. “Depends on how you want it to be,” he said after a full minute’s pause, “If you’re taking me to the Ritz or Four Seasons or The Savoy then I’d like five hundred pounds for the night, plus the bathrobe and slippers, the toiletries and the freedom to order what I want to eat and drink. If you’re taking me home or a friend’s flat then I’d want seven hundred and fifty pounds because we’re not going to be eating or spending on anything else. You will use a condom and allow me to use it too, I won’t kiss you on the mouth and I am not okay to let you empty your bladder on me or put your load into my mouth…..”

 

“Hold on,” John stopped him, “What if all I want is some company for the night and no sex?”

 

Sherlock gave him a look that suggested shock and relief at the same time. “Well then,” he said, pushing his seat back and allowing himself to relax and stretch his long legs, “Let’s go.”

 

***

 

“Is this your flat?” Sherlock asked as John parked the car.

 

“No….I mean yes,” John answered, “This is also my flat. My mum left it for me when she passed recently. She and dad have a country house too, in Devonshire. That’s mine as well.”

 

“Your parents were upper middle class,” Sherlock looked around and nodded appreciatively, “This is a fairly posh neighborhood. If the flat is in this building and it has three bedrooms or more, I can safely bet this place would be worth at least one and half million in today’s times. Lucky you, inheriting something like this from your parents. I know people who spend a lifetime working their arms off and still won’t manage to buy a flat like this even in a less affluent neighborhood.”

 

“Fortunes are relative Sherlock,” John said, “What’s good for you might be bad for me. What’s a windfall for me might not even make sense to you.”

 

“Hmmmm, wise words indeed.”

 

“Listen, please take this money before we even get out of the vehicle. I’d like to pay you upfront.”

 

“Okay, I don’t mind. Always better to be paid first.”

 

Sherlock put the notes into his wallet and got out of the car while John alighted after a few more seconds. He was still wondering if it was a good idea to do this but every single time he looked at Sherlock he didn’t feel like letting him go….not just yet, not so quickly or so soon anyways. This was a very interesting young man and he needed just this kind of company to distract himself from all the troubles that were plaguing his mind.

 

Still, it felt weird to bring a young good looking male prostitute to the same flat where his mum used to live, the same woman who had gone into shock upon hearing her son was gay and died merely a few days later.

 

But there was no other place he could think of which would suit the purpose for tonight. He could have chosen a hotel but he didn’t want to spend a hefty sum for a night at a lavish hotel or check into a smaller and shady one where they’d draw crooked glances from everyone. He didn’t want to take Sherlock to his own flat because…..well, he knew his neighbors were not nosy but why take a chance and let tongues wag. This flat was ideal for them to spend the night in. His mum was gone, _the property was his to use any way he wanted_ and he didn’t really intend to fuck this man, so no harm done to his mum’s memory.

 

“All okay?” Sherlock asked.

 

“Yeah,” John said, “Let’s go inside.”

 

***

 

“Nice place,” Sherlock said as he looked around the flat.

 

“A bit dusty, not so lived-in but we can manage,” John said as he scanned the app on his phone for take-aways.

 

The flat was on the fourth and fifth level of the residential block and had two bedrooms upstairs, along with attached baths, a study and a large covered balcony which could also serve as a sit-out. The floor downstairs had a sitting room, a parlor, a laundry room, a kitchen with a dining area and a guest bedroom with an attached bathroom. The furniture, mostly bought three decades ago, was solid and sturdy and fashionable and the tapestry, upholstery and rugs were just as beautifully maintained and expensive. The flat gave an overall vibe of a family that was well-off financially but not too great on relationships.

 

“No signs of your childhood here,” Sherlock murmured after he had ‘given himself’ a walking tour, “This flat must be at least thirty years old.”

 

“This building is,” John answered, “We bought and moved in here twenty-five years ago. You want Indian?”

 

“No rice please. Naan, lentils, salad and a grilled chicken.”

 

“Chicken tandoori?”

 

“Yup.”

 

John placed the order and came to the parlor where Sherlock was looking at the bookshelf. He held the book ‘Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy’, looking at it very excitedly and with a clear longing in his eyes. “You can keep that book if you want,” John said, startling Sherlock who almost put the book back on the shelf before he clutched it to his chest, “It’s brand new and was bought only four or five months ago for a nephew. But the boy told my mum that he already had one so it got pushed on that shelf. By the way, you were asking me why there are no signs of my childhood here in this flat. I was mostly in boarding school from age ten, then I lived on my own while I was in medical college.”

 

“And your sister?”

 

John sighed, “Should I even ask how?”

 

“Family Photograph.”

 

“Impossible. None of the photos where she was…..I mean all those photographs were removed around fourteen years ago when she moved out.”

 

“There was one in the bathroom cabinet upstairs.”

 

“Sherlock,” John gave him a straight and sharp stare, “I enjoy talking to you and I like your curiosity filled questions, deductive reasoning and clever mind but I draw the line at snooping around the house without my permission. You walked around, that was still fine with me. But opening cabinets, drawers, closets and peering into the contents, that is really not done. That would tantamount to intrusiveness. Please don’t do that again.”

 

“Won’t,” Sherlock said in an apologetic tone.

 

John accepted it and moved on. “The bar is still stocked, what would you like to have?” He asked as Sherlock settled on a chaise lounge and pulled an ottoman right up to its edge so he could put his long legs over it and even lie down flat over them, if needed. “Beer?” He asked.

 

“Nah, don’t have beer or gin.”

 

“Whiskey then. With ice and water, I like mine diluted. Wait, should I mix the drinks for us?”

 

“No,” John smiled, “I’ll do it.”

 

John also found a packet of baked snacks and the two men munched on them as they drank. They spoke about books Sherlock had read and articles John had written, they even talked about the latest tweets and WhatsApp jokes that were doing the rounds and slowly John realized why Sebastian had suggested he should hire a paid mate. Yeah, Sebastian’s intention was for John to have life-altering sex with a sexy hooker but following his guideline John was glad to have found a hooker who was a little more than just sexy. He was intelligent, well-read and very easy to talk to.

 

Maybe talking and companionship was all he needed. Maybe a total stranger was all he needed at this point.

 

“Oh-Oh-Oh,” Sherlock suddenly remembered something and jumped up from the chaise lounge, “John, I am so sorry, but I have to go somewhere for half an hour. I sponsor the night tuitions for a bunch of homeless kids, so they can at least become literate and find suitable employment once they’re past their teens. I talk to various benevolent folks and charitable institutions and gather the money twice a year. I have paid the money to the two teachers but I haven’t given them the names of the kids and submitted their files. See, I have the files in my backpack here.”

 

Filled with a sudden sense of fulfilment, John said, “How about I go with you, you finish the work and we drive back together?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John realizes Sherlock is more than just a young man looking to make a quick buck. A plan crops up in his head.

The couple Sherlock was talking about lived in a council estate in Ealing and seemed to be really fond of Sherlock. When they saw John sitting in the car outside, they quickly scuttled over to say ‘hello’ and even offered to host them for dinner that evening. Their young son clambered into the car but Sherlock quickly pulled him out, post which the child clung to Sherlock like a monkey and called him ‘My hero’. John politely refused the hospitality and waited patiently as Sherlock finished his commitment and came back to sit in the car again.

 

“This extra income helps them send their son to a school for children with special needs,” Sherlock explained, “Their son Robin is autistic. He’s very fond of me. Once I found him when he had gotten lost on the streets and brought him back here. That’s how I met his parents.”

 

“You seem to have dedicated your life to others, haven’t you?” John asked, a deep sense of respect and admiration filling his heart as he understood and realized more and more about this unique young man, “You were willing to take on four aggressive men to safeguard your landlady and ensure she gets justice. You have organized for a bunch of homeless kids to get the education not even the government cares to provide. Their tutors happen to be a couple who need these fees for their son’s special educational needs. The son considers you a hero. You once rescued him from near disaster. What are you really? Some crusader who is missing a cape?”

 

Sherlock laughed, “Nah. Most crusaders don’t need capes. And I am not a crusader really, I am more of a ‘Make a difference to one, if you can’ kind of person. If I see someone is in genuine need of help and it’s within my means to help them, then I do all I can.”

 

“It’s very rare for people to think this way.”

 

“Maybe it’s easy for me because I don’t have a family. People who had partners, kids, siblings, parents, they get far too caught up in looking after them and doing their filial duties to support anyone else. I am alone in this world, aside from a friend and Mrs. Hudson, I have no one. Easy for me to be the do-gooder.”

 

“I know people who have no families and yet do nothing to help anyone else,” John said through gritted teeth, “In fact, I know people who have some family left and yet don’t move a finger to help them.”

 

The words were spoken with so much self-loathing that Sherlock turned his head sharply to look at John and instantly recognized the ‘scent’ of self-directed criticism. “Who is in your family John?” He asked, “Children? Siblings?”

 

“No kids. Yeah, one sibling.”

 

“Have you two fallen out?”

 

“Yeah, sort of.”

 

“Then call her and reconcile. Do it tonight, in fact.”

 

John snapped, “Yeah, just call and do it tonight, eh? It’s that simple for you, isn’t it? You’re just a kid Sherlock, maybe nineteen or twenty and naturally things seem so simple and uncomplicated to you. Live ten more years and find out what life is really all about. The romanticism of the twenties dies out and becomes the cynicism of the thirties and the skepticism of the forties. There is a reason behind that and that’s called experience. My sister and I haven’t spoken in ten years, TEN LONG YEARS. You think one phone call is all it takes to heal such a rift?”

 

“Yes,” Sherlock said confidently, “Sometimes, that’s all it takes.” He paused for a moment and added, “I am twenty-three, soon to be twenty-four. So not a kid exactly. Also, growing up as an orphan I have learned more about life and this world than you might have. I didn’t have a cocoon around me to protect and support me, like a home, parents, education that’s easily paid for, food on the table, new clothes every few months, choice of university.”

 

John was almost about to protest when a thought struck him like a bullet and he shut his mouth and thought about the lesson he had just learned. So many things he took for granted were actually things his parents had provided for him, stuff he had never even acknowledged or thanked them for. _Don’t let it happen again, if you owe someone something tell them about it right away,_ his heart told him.

 

“Thanks,” he said.

 

“For?”

 

“For telling me the truth I needed to know.”

 

“So are you calling her or not?”

 

“Maybe after we have our dinner. The takeaway will be with the concierge, we might have to heat it up.”

 

***

 

“Tell me about 221B Baker Street,” John said as they ate dinner, “It’s a prime location, prohibitively expensive for most Londoners. How does Mrs. Hudson manage to own a place there? Inherited?”

 

“Yeah,” Sherlock said as he scooped up some lentil gravy with a piece of naan, “It belonged to her husband. He was a criminal, a goon, and managed to get himself killed by his own deputy.”

 

He then went on to explain how Mrs. Hudson, a kindly and generous but very resourceful and brave lady, had taken in two orphaned boys Sherlock and Victor after they had run off from the orphanage at age fourteen. They had beaten up the warden because he used the young teenaged boys for a discreet and despicable sex-trade for some pedophile clients. She had stood up for them and helped them continue their education, put food on their table and a roof over their heads. But now the same deputy who was responsible for Mr. Hudson’s murder, wanted the property and was trying to scare the poor woman off.

 

“Hold on,” John said, looking rather excited, “I can help her out.”

 

Sherlock looked at him quizzically to which John replied with unbridled enthusiasm. “I have these friends, their names are Mycroft and Greg, it’s actually they who can help. Mycroft is one of the top-notch lawyers in England and Greg is a detective inspector with Scotland Yard. They are a couple, I had introduced them since I knew them both, and since then they have always told me they owed me one. Actually they owe me three, first of all I played matchmaker for them, secondly I had operated on Greg when he got shot at a crime scene and the third reason, I helped a key witness survive after a murder attempt was made on him. Mycroft was handling the case for which that fellow was a witness. He won the case thereafter.”

 

“Ah.”

 

“This is a case these two custodians of the law would love to handle.”

 

Sherlock looked hugely excited, “Really? Can you help Mrs. Hudson for sure?”

 

“I know those two men. They are very capable and honest men, they have cracked most of the cases that were assigned to them so yes, I see no reason why they cannot handle this one.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“You don’t need to thank me Sherlock. I am just doing a fraction of what you’ve been doing so far. Helping others. It actually….feels good.”

 

“I am sure you get this feeling all the time as a surgeon, don’t you? You save lives.”

 

John took in a sharp breath and steadied his hands which shook suddenly. “What happened?” Sherlock asked, looking a trifle worried, “You seem a bit put off. Remembered something or is it something I said?”

 

“No, nothing,” John quickly ended the topic there. Thankfully for him, Sherlock didn’t pursue the matter any further. Instead he asked for a toothbrush and John fortunately found a spare one and gave it to him.

 

***

 

“Tom and Jerry cartoons?” John asked, a bit puzzled, as Sherlock swapped all the channels and settled on cartoon network where the legendary cat and mouse episodes were on, “That’s your late-night watch?”

 

“Why?” Sherlock asked, shrugging as he burrowed deeper under the covers and mountain of blankets around him, “Why this surprise? We have grown up on some of these cartoons and it’s good to go back to revisit your childhood days a bit….through these things.”

 

“It’s strange how you still wish to revisit your childhood which wasn’t all things good and cozy,” John said ruefully as he hesitantly got into bed and lay down on his back, eyes on the TV screen at the foot of the bed, “Mine wasn’t half bad and yet I meticulously avoid revisiting it.” He sighed and watched the cartoon, slowly getting absorbed in the hilarious and mindless fun that was showcased in each episode. Harmless, unspoiled, rib-tickling laughter ensued and the two men soon got lost in episodes where the cat and mouse took turns in teasing, chasing and turning the tables on each other. After a while John began to wonder why he had not done this before. It was actually quite de-stressing.

 

“Hahahahahahaha,” Sherlock curled up and held his sides, “Ohhhhhh, can’t breathe, this is too funny man!”

 

John watched him and thought ‘I don’t know how this is happening but I am just…..very happy!’

 

Around 1 am Sherlock began to yawn and rub his eyes. His body language began to change, grow more slack and relaxed, the signs of oncoming sleep. John saw those green eyes begin to droop and slowly tried to get out of bed when a hand snuck up to him under the blanket and grabbed at his wrist. “Jawn,” Sherlock’s sleepy voice and changed accent was adorable, “You can sleep here, it’s okay.”

 

“No, you sleep, I am not ready to turn in yet…..”

 

_I am not going to tell him I am an insomniac nowadays, that I need meds to fall asleep._

 

“I’ll be fine,” Sherlock yawned again, “We’ll both be fine. Sleep here.”

 

“Okay,” John replied, not sure why he was agreeing so easily, “Let me turn off the lights and the television then.”

 

By the time John had done both, Sherlock was already asleep. John slid into a sleeping position, initially facing away from Sherlock and a little tense because he was acutely aware of the man’s presence next to him and somewhat aroused by it, and tried to keep his breathing even and regular. He planned to get out of there and go to his room upstairs maybe in fifteen-twenty minutes but he fell asleep in five.

 

Sometime during the night he woke up.

 

It felt different but not in a bad way. In fact he felt rather happy and relaxed like this.

 

He had turned on his back sometime during the past few hours and Sherlock was now facing him, curled up against him like a cat, one of his arms thrown over John’s chest. Usually John avoided such holds or weights while he slept. He remembered pushing Mary away as gently as possible whenever she would cuddle up in the early days of their marriage, but with Sherlock it felt comforting and assuring and not a hindrance to sleep. He caught Sherlock’s scent in the air, the soft cadence of his peaceful breathing sounds and feel his warmth against his side. It soothed him in ways he hadn’t even thought possible and he fell right back into a deep sleep within seconds.

 

***

 

“Jawn…..Jawwn?”

 

John woke up with a jump and looked around a bit frantically, not sure where he was.

 

It was not a room he was used to waking up in but he eventually recognized it as the guest room of his parents’ duplex flat. A pair of green eyes stared at him and an innocent and handsome young face, enveloped by a headful of disheveled dark brown waves and curls, hovered about inches from his own. It all came back to him in an instant. He had hired an escort for the night and though the deal was only chatting and spending some quality time together, they had eventually ended up sleeping on the same bed. “Sherlock, good morning,” he said a bit breathlessly as he sat up, “When did you wake up? What time is it?”

 

“Nearly ten and I woke up about five minutes ago,” Sherlock said, “I….um…..is breakfast part of our deal?”

 

“You’re hungry,” John smiled.

 

“Yeah, but if it’s a problem I can go back to Baker Street and eat something. In that case, I will need to go right away.”

 

No. It’s okay, we can eat here and I will drop you home on my way to work.”

 

Sherlock nodded, “Is it okay if I take a shower?”

 

“Sure, go ahead.”

 

As he watched Sherlock pad towards the bathroom John realized he had agreed to breakfast simply because he wasn’t willing to let go of Sherlock yet. What was it about this young man that made him want him so? This had never happened to him before and while it shocked him mildly, it didn’t disturb him enough to make him want to end it as quickly as possible. Mornings were always wiser than evenings but even as he sat up in bed, the sun already high in the skies, he didn’t feel for even a moment that he had made a mistake. In fact, this was the first time in two years that he felt ‘not’ depressed upon waking up.

 

He heard the shower run. “Breakfast then,” he said to himself and threw his legs over the side, “Thank God I had no surgeries scheduled in the first half today.”

 

***

 

As John cooked breakfast for someone other than just himself, he realized he had somehow rediscovered his love for cooking. He had grown up spending most of his summer holidays around his grandmother and because she was a great cook, he too had ended up imbibing her skills and her love for the kitchen. He used to find cooking therapeutic at one point of time but over the past few years lost that zest as work and then his personal problems had begun to suck him into a vortex of anger, depression and frustrations.

 

Somehow this morning felt like one of those mornings back in his teenage days when he used to prepare breakfast for himself, his nana and his sister Harry.

 

He prepared some French toast and some eggs benedict with hollandaise sauce. Not sure what kind of tea Sherlock would prefer, he chose to brew both Darjeeling and Oolong. He also fried some bacon and rashers, as a ‘side’, just in case the breakfast mains were not so appreciated. The items for these came easily from a nearby Tesco which did a home delivery service at an extra cost and in less than an hour, when Sherlock padded into the kitchen, the food was ready and served on the table. The young man stared at the fare, not making a single move to sit down at the table or touch it.

 

“Go on,” John encouraged, “It’s ready.”

 

“I…ehm…do I……”

 

“What is it?”

 

“I am not appropriately attired for company.”

 

“What company? You are attired the same way as last night, jeans, hoodie, O neck T shirt, sneakers, I don’t see a change.”

 

“No, I mean…..who else is joining us for breakfast?” Sherlock asked, staring hard at the food, “This cannot be for just two of us, right?”

 

John began to chuckle, “Oh dear, did I go overboard?”

 

Sherlock looked a bit red behind the ears, “I am sorry if I sounded awkward and foolish. But this mountain of food seems fit for at least five people and not two. I am not used to such luxuries Jawn. Speaking honestly, for breakfast on weekdays it’s usually toast and tea or milk and cornflakes. Every Saturday and Sunday Mrs. Hudson gets more time to cook so she prepares an omelet for us.”

 

John felt genuinely bad for the young man and decided to temper the moment with a little humility. “I didn’t intend to make you feel small. I am just very interested in cooking, I like to cook and feed my guests, so I thought let me try out my breakfast specialties. It’s not like even I got such choices for the first meal of the day, not always.”

 

As Sherlock started to eat, John sipped his tea and watched him. Despite his struggles and relative lack of exposure, the young man was surprisingly refined when it came to table manners and self-control. He ate in small amounts, didn’t heap his plate, used the appropriate cutlery and appreciated Joh’s fare with the right choice of words. No sycophancy or fawning, just plain admiration for a fare well-selected, perfectly cooked and nicely presented.

 

John didn’t eat much. Instead, he started making an unusual, almost experimental plan in his head.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John tries to help Sherlock and a certain Mycroft comes into the picture.

“Hey John,” Sherlock tinkled his spoon against his cup, “Hey, attention please!”

 

John looked up with a start. He had been lost in his thoughts for a while, he was slightly off-key in his focus. “Huh?”

 

“Hahahahaha,” Sherlock laughed at his bewildered and slightly disoriented look, “You are really different from others I know. Look at you, you seem to be already feeling guilty about last night’s decision. C’mon doc, you didn’t even sleep with me, we just talked and laughed and watched cartoons.” He leaned back in his chair and patted his stomach, “God, I am so full I can hardly breathe, and my jeans is beginning to feel like a second skin. Hey doc, stop overthinking about this, nobody will ever know unless you tell them and even if they do find out, what’s the worst they’re gonna say? ‘John Watson spent the night with an escort’. Ignore!”

 

John was silent.

 

“It’s not like we will see each other again,” Sherlock jabbed his fork in the air.

 

“What if I want to?”

 

“I didn’t get you.”

 

“What if I want to see you again, tonight?”

 

It was Sherlock’s turn to look bewildered. He stared at John with the most incredulous of expressions, one of complete bafflement and disbelief, and asked, “You mean you want me to come back here again tonight? You are hiring me for another night?”

 

“I want your company for another evening and night,” John confessed, “Last evening and night was magical and I admit I have never enjoyed myself as much as I did while having a drink with you, eating takeaway for dinner and watching cartoons. Such small, commonplace, everyday things felt so much better simply because you were part of them. I’d like a repeat, just name your price. Same as last night or do you want more?”

 

“S-Same.”

 

“Then here, let me give you…..”

 

“No, please, no, not now.”

 

John felt a pang of disappointment. “You mean, you don’t want to confirm tonight’s appointment yet?”

 

“No, I do. I am just not…..I mean, I don’t want to take the money now. In fact, I’ll take the money tomorrow morning. Last night you trusted me and paid upfront, tonight I’ll trust you and let you pay only if the second night is even better than the first one.”

 

 _Down on his luck but not out, low on money and opportunities but still so proud_. John felt his respect towards this young lad double as he replied in a tone of quiet reserve, “As you wish Sherlock. But tonight, we won’t meet here. We shall meet at my flat in South Kensington.”

 

***

 

Mycroft Holmes and Greg Lestrade sat side by side and studied the case notes John had brought with himself, all of them documented by Sherlock who had built a surprisingly strong case against the man responsible for Mrs. Hudson’s misery and Sherlock’s anger. Jacques Peron was his name and he was running a small time but rather elusive gang that had managed to evade the police and the Scotland Yard for a long time, engaging in petty crimes, aiding in bigger ones and sometimes causing unnecessary anarchy. “I’d be very grateful if you help this lady and the boys out,” John requested.

 

“I have been after this bastard for some time now,” Greg said, “I’ll ensure he goes behind bars this time. There is a bigger shark who supports him, someone I have been tracking for a while now. Maybe if I get this one, I can use him as a bait to capture the bigger fish.”

 

Mycroft, a quiet and sophisticated man, was the only son of a Count who had relinquished his title and who had enough money to buy a big portion of London but had chosen to be a philanthropist instead. His middle name was ‘cool charm’ and his ability to stay unruffled and unaffected no matter the situation had made him a legendary name in his circles. ‘Iceman Mycroft’ was what he was called and even now he gave a glimpse of that innate ‘ice’. “I have the legal case ready in my head already, we just need to prepare some notices and restraining orders, that’s all. Rest, my partner will take care of.”

 

“I will be forever grateful,” John said happily.

 

“Hey, don’t say that,” Greg replied, “You are the one doing us a favor. Whoever has prepared these notes is a genius. Half the work is done already.”

 

“I agree,” Mycroft said, adjusting his Gucci tie, “This is something even I wanted to do for a while. Take on a case which will benefit some normal citizens and not just the rich and famous. I am a lawyer for all, not just a few. This case, I won’t even charge.”

 

“Great,” John replied, “I can give my…..friend the good news. Now enough about this, what about your engagement? I heard a date has been set.”

 

Mycroft suddenly looked rather sad and tense while Greg seemed slightly perturbed by the topic. John immediately backtracked, blaming himself for being a bit too forward. “Hey, you have been in a longstanding relationship,” John made sure he sounded sufficiently contrite, “So it doesn’t matter if you’re putting rings on each other or not. Sorry I asked so bluntly. My apologies, not my business at all.”

 

“No, no, it’s just that…..” Mycroft began, looking uncharacteristically emotional. It took John by shock-horror because the most intense emotion he had ever seen on Mycroft Holmes was a plastic smile while receiving an OBE from the Queen.

 

Mycroft must have realized that too because he shortly left the lunch table citing some phone call he had t make. Greg Lestrade, ever the supportive companion to the Iceman, decided to take over. “Hey, let me tell you something. Just keep it to yourself, okay? In two weeks there is this very special day the Holmes family observes. It is one of those days when no tears are shed anymore but the whole family remembers and prays for someone they lost twenty-one years ago. I saw them observe it for the past three years, ever since Mr. and Mrs. Holmes accepted me as a member of the family. Very grave and totally heartbreaking day. Around this time no festivities, celebrations or special occasions are…..um, allowed.”

 

“So….It is the anniversary of a family member’s death?” John asked.

 

“Can’t say that, because his death was never confirmed.”

 

“Who are we talking about?”

 

“Mycroft’s younger brother. His name was William. Ten years younger. Was the darling of the family and loved dearly. Poor child was only three years old then.”

 

John sighed and nodded. Losing a sibling, the only sibling, was painful. He missed his sister even more at that moment. He wished Sherlock was with him soon so he could gather his courage and wits and make that phone call. “Poor little mite,” he said gently, “I hope he is all right, wherever he is. But it must be a very difficult time for Mycroft’s family. Some losses can never be forgotten.”

 

“Mike blames himself,” Greg sighed too, turning to look at Mycroft who was pacing up and down in front of the restaurant, phone glued to his ear, “When the boy went missing, Mike was in charge. They were at London’s Trafalgar Square and the kid suddenly disappeared.”

 

“Come on, Mike must have been like….thirteen? He was barely more than a kid himself.”

 

“Not that his parents blame him. He blames himself.”

 

“So the engagement is pushed to a later date?”

 

“My mum-in-law is a practical lady. She says we should get engaged on the same day they lost William. She feels that way she’d regain her lost son. She is extremely fond of me and I of her.”

 

“Wish you good luck then,” John said as he asked for the bill, “If I am lucky I would get an invite for the special day, right?”

 

“By all means!”

 

***

 

The lady who answered the main door at 221B Baker street was in her late fifties, with dark brown carefully dyed hair, light blue grey eyes and a slender feminine build. She was still quick on her feet and greeted John with an easy and friendly smile. She wore a yellow and white sundress and a lilac cardigan on top of that and crocs on her feet. Smelling of herbs and spices and holding a whisk in her hand, she squinted at John and asked, “Good afternoon sir. I don’t believe we have met. Are you sure you are at the right address? Loads of people mistake this for 221C where a Television actress lives.”

 

John shook his head with a smile, “I believe I am at the right address. Does Sherlock live here?”

 

Her benign smile disappeared and was replaced by a look of motherly concern and protectiveness. “Sherlock?” She looked at the staircase behind her, “Yes, he does live here sir, he is one of my tenants. The two boys, Sherlock and Victor, they live on the first floor. What has he done now? I hope he has not beaten up someone again or swept another damsel off her feet. I have received so many visits from angry friends, agitated family members and jealous lovers that I have lost count. But he is a good boy, whatever he does is to help someone else. Never for himself…..”

 

“Hold it Mrs. Hudson…..” John interrupted her.

 

“You know my name?” She was wide-eyed.

 

“Yes. Sherlock told me so much about you.”

 

“Oh, so there is no trouble brewing or some fight that’s just waiting to happen?”

 

“Not at all. I have come to pick him up. He works for me, I have hired him for a short-term assignment. Was passing this way so I decided to pick him up.”

 

“Please come inside sir. I know he is taking a shower. I’ll inform him that you are here and you might want to wait in my living room until he comes downstairs. Would you like a cup of tea and some biscuits in the meantime?”

 

“Just tea will be fine, thanks! Please call me John.”

 

***

 

Mrs. Hudson handed John a cup of tea and took a seat on a couch opposite from him. John didn’t take milk with his coffee but she was a sweet lady and very hospitable too, hence he took two or three polite sips and smiled at her. This time, Mrs. Hudson didn’t smile back. “I know you have hired him for what kind of assignment John,” she said rather unexpectedly, “Just wanted you to know he is not your regular escort, he’s a sensitive boy so…..”

 

“No, no,” John protested, embarrassed, “It’s not what you think…..”

 

“I am old enough to think only after careful analysis young man,” she said sadly, “He has no idea I know but I do know that in the past three months he has, on three or four occasions, sold himself to rich men who would pay a high price for the pleasure of his company for a night. But none of them came here to pick him up and you seem a decent man, hence I am requesting you, be gentle with him. Be respectful. My boy is not a whore, he isn’t someone too lazy to work in an office or shop and definitely not one of those ambitious young people who sell themselves to buy the latest iPhone. He is doing this to help me make two ends meet.”

 

John was stunned. This was least expected. The old lady was so heartbroken by Sherlock’s sacrifice and yet so proud of him for his generosity and determination that he didn’t know whether to apologize or simply promise her what she was asking for.

 

“My entire income goes off in fighting a legal battle with my husband’s murderer, that vile Jacques. Victor, my other adopted son, he got into pickpocketing and smuggling, simply to help me out and got himself arrested. He’s out of jail now but due to his foolish step no one will employ him anymore.”

 

“Jacques will be fixed soon ma’am. As for Sherlock, yes I will take good care of him. I look at him as a companion, not as an escort.”

 

“Don’t tell him I know.”

 

“I won’t.”

 

She heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” she smiled quietly, “I am going to put a stop to this. I shall sell off this property. I have already applied for a council house. We will move there and whatever funds are left after the sale and paying off that monster, we can start a small business. Maybe Sherlock can even complete his education. He was brilliant but had to drop out after the third year…..”

 

“Hi John.”

 

The conversation came to a halt as Sherlock appeared at the doorway. “You didn’t have to do this,” the young man looked a bit uncomfortable about John’s presence there, “I could have reached your flat….I mean your office on my own. I have the address.” He gave his landlady and adoptive mum a glance and added, “Don’t wait up for me, ask Victor not to do that either. I might have to work late. In case it is too late, Dr. Watson has kindly offered me his guest room to sleep for the night. I shall be home tomorrow morning.”

 

John got to his feet, setting the teacup down on the center table. The sooner they got out of there, the better. “I was passing this way, hence I decided to check if you needed a ride. Mrs. Hudson, thanks so much for the tea. I shall see you later. Come on Sherlock, let’s go.”

 

***

 

“You shouldn’t have come here doc,” Sherlock said as he sat in the car, “Mrs. Hudson might come across as an old-fashioned housewife who talks too much but deep down she is a very perceptive and extremely clever woman. She survived that bastard of a husband of hers. Good riddance in a way because he constantly cheated on her with a series of women barely into their twenties. But after he was gone troubles multiplied for here because of that asshole Jacques…..anyways, she does not really approve of the line of work I have chosen temporarily.”

 

John startled, “You know?”

 

Sherlock nodded and shrugged with a ‘duh’ look. “Look, it’s none of my business, but someone of your intelligence and capabilities should not be in this profession,” John couldn’t hold back on the words that were bubbling at the tip of his tongue, “You could be a lot of things but an escort shouldn’t be one of them. Later in life, someday when you are much older and successful and settled in with a family of your own, these days should not come back to haunt you like a ghost from the past.”

 

“Your logic is flawed doc.”

 

“Really? How?”

 

“Nothing can haunt you or bother you without your consent.”

 

“Easier said than done.”

 

“Oh no, easier done than said. Once you make up your mind that you don’t need anyone’s validation and people need to accept you for who you are or just ship off, things become much simpler for you. I’d like to keep my life simple that way, I don’t need a retinue of friends and their unending compliments, I don’t have parents whose validation I need, basically I do not give power to other people’s opinions. So, in future, if I ever have a partner, he will have to accept the fact that I was once an escort.”

 

“How can you be so unaffected by things and so sure of yourself?” John asked, quite taken aback by the young man’s self-assurance.

 

“Dunno, maybe it’s in my genes…..hey doc can I drive your car?” Sherlock asked with a pleading look on his face.

 

As if I can say ‘no’ to you, John thought with a knowing smile. “All right,” he got out of the car, “Take the wheel. But all three of us, you and me and this car, should reach my place in one piece. Deal?”

 

“DEAL!!!” Sherlock squealed with joy, jumped out of the car and gave John a quick hug. It felt good, so good that John stood next to the car for several seconds, just reliving the hug. It was only when Sherlock called out to him impatiently that he roused himself from that trance and ducked into the car, strapping on his seat belt. As Sherlock drove, he had to admit that the young man was not bad behind the wheel at all. Without scraping, denting the car or even coming too close to hitting another one, Sherlock managed to maneuver the luxury BMW 7 series through the heavy London traffic and arrive at John’s residence in a mere forty-five minutes.

 

“There,” he said with evident satisfaction, “We arrived in one piece!”

 

“Brilliant,” John replied, “And sorry.”

 

Sherlock looked confused, “For what?”

 

“I just showed up there!”

 

“It’s okay. Doesn’t matter. You did what you thought was right. As long as we accept we cannot always be right, we’re good.”

 

“Or that we are always wrong, even that is not possible, correct?” John asked, intrigued. He had lived a large part of his life thinking everything he had done on the personal front was wrong. Wrong to like men, wrong to marry a woman, wrong to have supported his sister initially, wrong to have not taken the emergency call during the surgery, wrong this, wrong that, he had always wallowed in self-pity and extreme self-hatred.

 

_So that’s why I was always angsty!_

 

“Jawn, we are human beings. Sometimes we get it right, sometimes we get it wrong!”

 

John smiled, “Yes Mr. Wisdom, you make a lot of sense, as always. Now let’s head inside.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do note the story is 'Sherlock'. There is no 'Holmes' mentioned. That's a hint ;-)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John realizes Sherlock can be so much more than a paid companion

John watched, amused, as Sherlock jumped up and down on the bed and squealed and bounced and did cartwheels around the room. John’s lavishly decorated, opulent five bedroom flat with a plethora of luxuries splashed all over it, had totally knocked Sherlock off his feet and made him go saucer-eyed as he got the walking-tour from his host. While John took a call from Greg Lestrade, Sherlock had clearly dropped his guard and decided to become a child and enjoy the super-grandiose bedroom in his own way.

 

 _Small things make him happy, he puts others before himself, he does not care for validation, he lives as he pleases, maybe that’s why he is always so happy and so at ease in his own skin._ John watched him, smiling, as the young lad bundled up under the snowy comforter and then pressed the button on the headboard which automatically released a fifty-inch screen LED television from the footboard side. The screen rose and stopped at the correct height for Sherlock’s viewing pleasure and the set got switched on automatically.

 

“What next?” Sherlock asked John excitedly when the latter walked into the room, “Smart bathroom, smart closet, smart bed, everything smart and clever, hahahahaha!!!” Unabashedly he started swapping channels and giggling as he tried the motion sensor driven lighting system, scampering around the room like a thrilled child. John sat down at the edge of the bed, smiling indulgently as he watched the younger man display his unbridled joy at his first experience of several high-end luxury items. Sherlock was least bothered about keeping up a façade and it was this completely uninhibited side of his that John found himself getting drawn to.

 

“Have you called your sister?”

 

“Huh?” John blinked.

 

“You haven’t called Harriet yet?”

 

“Um….no.”

 

“Why?” Sherlock looked displeased, “Didn’t I ask you to call her and fix things with her?”

 

“Yes, I want to,” John confessed, “But I wanted you to be around when I do.”

 

“Okay. I am here now. Call her.”

 

John nodded and took his cell phone out of his pocket. He hesitated for some time but an irritable cough from Sherlock made him quickly pull out the number and press ‘call’, hoping with all his heart that her number was still the same after all these years. The phone rang several times but no one answered, so, with a heavy heart he ended the call. “She isn’t answering,” he mumbled, trying to push away the disappointment he felt.

 

“Maybe she will call back,” Sherlock suggested.

 

“No, she does not want to talk to me.”

 

“Oh God Jawn, you are one hell of an ‘assumer’,” Sherlock stated in a matter of fact tone, “If there was an award for someone who assumes the most, you would have easily got the first prize. All of us end up missing calls, maybe because we are doing something important or we are not near our phones. Why are you assuming the worst? Your mind is your worst enemy if you give it too much power, especially the power of interpreting emotions. And this is your sister for Christ’s sake, if she doesn’t call back call her again in half hour. Make her feel you really want to talk to her, after all these years.”

 

“Yeah,” John felt suitably ashamed, “I will call again.”

 

His phone rang suddenly. John, instead of answering it, stared in bewilderment at Sherlock and murmured, “She is calling me. She called back.” Sherlock grinned from ear to ear in a ‘I told you so manner’ and pointed at the phone. “Answer it Jawn, don’t miss the call or else she might end up thinking you are trying to get even with her. Talk to her and remember, don’t get into a blame game. Keep the chat future-focused.”

 

John cleared his throat and answered the call, “Hello…..Harry?”

 

“Johnny?”

 

“I….um….how are you?”

 

“I am fine. Thank God you didn’t say you dialed the number by mistake.”

 

John got a start at that statement. _Gosh, while I was assuming she doesn’t wanna talk to me, she was assuming the same. She thinks I might have called her by mistake. Shit, Sherlock was right. Assumptions only make asses out of us._

 

“John?”

 

“Yes, yes, I am here. No, it wasn’t a mistake….in fact, not calling you earlier was a mistake. Is it too late to say I am sorry?”

 

“It’s never too late for that,” she sounded understanding, but her tone clearly said she was not ready to forgive yet, “But I do want to know why it took you so long to reach out to me. When mum and dad did that totally despicable thing of disinheriting me and throwing me out of their lives, I had expected you to at least stand on neutral ground. But you clearly took their side, even though you and I are the exact same when it comes to preferences. You and I are both gay, are we not?”

 

“I actually have a few things to say but……I will be frank, I don’t want you to think I am making weird excuses.”

 

“I am not going to consider them as excuses. They are your reasons. But I do want to know those reasons.”

 

This was going better than he thought and John decided to give this his best shot. He was not going to let go of this golden chance of reconciling with his sister. Already he was feeling better, the mere sound of her familiar voice made him feel a beautiful connection to his childhood, a connection he had lost after his gran died and his sister fell out with their parents. “Harry, I was not as clear about my sexuality as you were about yours. I even thought that homosexuality was a mild disease of a troubled, confused mind. Looking back it seems ridiculous now, but back then this was my firm belief. Another reason, one you probably know already, is that I needed validation and approval from mum and dad. You didn’t. You could hold out on your own, unlike me.”

 

There was a prolonged silence at the other end and he shifted uncomfortably, wondering what she was thinking. But his eyes fell on Sherlock and the younger man showed him the ‘thumbs-up’ sign, instantly lifting his spirits. He waited with patience and without prejudice, giving her enough time to process his words and come to a conclusion. Eventually, after nearly half a minute, she did.

 

“You made it unnecessarily hard on yourself. You even married and tried the ‘I am straight and conventional’ routine. Tell me Johnny, did it even help or did that make you even more miserable at the end?”

 

“Miserable.”

 

“I could have helped.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Not that I didn’t make my own share of shitty mistakes. I chose wrong partners, took to the bottle, ended up in rehab and went bankrupt. But it’s much better now. I am sober, have been so for three years now. I am in a steady relationship and have a regular job. Not debt free yet but we will soon get there. But that’s about me. How have you been holding up? I am sorry about Mary.”

 

“It was very unfortunate. I went into depression after that, immersed myself in work and was on the verge of a burnout when…..”

 

“Hold it, let me say that. You found the right man?”

 

John gasped. Oh no, his sister was always impulsive and quick to give an opinion. Once more she was getting too ahead of herself. “No Harry, not really. But yes, I have followed their advice and it made sense. I think things are looking up somewhat and they will get better over time. I can wait. I have learned to be patient.”

 

“Age and experience always teaches us to be patient,” she sounded upbeat, “To be tolerant. I wish I had been a little more tactful when it was time to come out.”

 

“Don’t think it would have worked because things didn’t change at home at all, not even after fifteen years,” John said sadly, narrating his experience of coming out to his mum and how she had reacted to that. He also told her how, till the last day of his life, their father had remained not only homophobic but also a gay-hater. As he spoke of his experiences and some personal stuff, he noticed that Sherlock had left the room. Smart and sensitive, the lad had given him the space and privacy he needed to reconnect with his estranged sister after more than a decade. He also realized that Harry was right to some extent. He had found the right man, the right man to be his friend, his lightning rod and his confidante.

 

If only Sherlock was also the right man to love and spend his entire life with…….

 

***

 

John felt twenty pounds lighter after the hour long chat with Harriet. He also felt very hungry. A sudden desire to cook a nice dinner for himself and Sherlock gripped him and he headed straight to the kitchen.

 

Soon his companion for the night joined him there, looking curious but also rather awed by the beautiful and spacious room where John cooked.

 

“You have a gorgeous kitchen and enough supplies to feed an army,” Sherlock sat next to the microwave oven, swinging his long legs as he crunched on a carrot, “Two stove tops, each with three hobs, a big Dutch oven, two microwaves, a refrigerator that can fit an elephant in, two kitchen islands, three counter tops, two big sinks, a huge dish washer, ten different types of mixers, blenders and choppers, thirty knives, wow! It even makes a total failure in the kitchen, me for example, to try my hand at cooking.”

 

“You don’t like cooking?” John asked.

 

“I like eating,” Sherlock said.

 

“Good, then we make a good pair.”

 

“No John, we don’t. You are a multi-millionaire surgeon who is also a visiting faculty at medical schools and an author of books on health and well-being. I am a college dropout, an escort and a nobody. Fairy tale endings don’t even find a place in my imagination, forget my reality.”

 

“Is it wrong to dream?”

 

“Not wrong until and unless you are unwilling to embrace the disappointment that comes along when those dreams bite the dust or simply give you heart ache. Anyways, let’s talk about the phone call. Have you patched up with Harriet?”

 

John smiled despite his slight disagreement with what Sherlock had just said. “Yes, I think so! The call was a success! She had her grievances, as I had mine, but we managed to keep the discussion future focused and blame-free. She is in a much better position now than she was before. Sober, steady job, steady partner who is a teacher, they live in East London now and have just bought a small flat for themselves. She works for a travel agency and has reconnected with a few of her college friends, so she has it all. Work life, social life, personal life. We didn’t talk about meeting in person but she promised to call me back in two days and we will set a time and place.”

 

“See, talking always helps,” Sherlock got off from the counter and peered into a pot, “What are you cooking?”

 

“Roast beef, cheesy cauliflower with some couscous,” John said proudly, “Strawberry mousse for dessert.”

 

“Can I help?”

 

“You have helped me enough Sherlock. Thanks to you I don’t feel I am all that is left of my family. I reconnected with my sister and will soon meet her, hopefully with her partner. Just stick around and talk to me, that will do.”

 

“Okie, aye-aye sir,” Sherlock said dramatically, snatching another carrot from the basket, “What do you want to talk about?”

 

“Have you ever missed a family of your own?”

 

“Ummm-hmmmm let’s see, you cannot miss someone you never knew. And it’s not like I didn’t have a family at all. There was always Mrs. Hudson and Victor. You have already met old Hudders and when you meet Victor you’d feel the same as you feel about her, they are good people caught in bad circumstances. We have always been there for each other, always tried to look out for each other. So, to answer in a nut shell, I don’t miss a family much. I always had a family, a maternal figure, a brother.”

 

“I spoke to my friends Mycroft and Greg, they will be able to help with that villain Jacques. The notes you made, the evidence you have collected, that’s been a big help. Give it a week, things will definitely improve. Sherlock, hey, what happened?”

 

Sherlock was frowning and massaging his temples. He looked a bit out of whack. “Headache?” John asked, concerned.

 

“No, a sudden uneasy feeling, like my head wants to remember but cannot pull the data out. That name, Mycroft, feels like I have heard that name before.”

 

***

 

They lay on the same bed at night, in John’s master bedroom, pretty much like they had done at John’s parents’ flat the night before. Only this time they cuddled up closer and John felt no hesitation, reluctance or awkwardness when Sherlock rested his head on his chest and watched one of the ‘Narcos’ episodes on the television screen. John wrapped an arm around Sherlock and distractedly watched the episode, not really hearing the dialogue but following the screenplay somewhat. This felt like a dream, a beautiful dream, like he was in a real relationship and had a real partner.

 

John had a sudden urge to share more than just superficial details of his life with this young man. “I was married you know,” he began, hoping Sherlock would show some interest in his story, “To a woman. Her name was Mary.”

 

Sherlock tensed up a little and then relaxed in his arms. After a few seconds he whispered, ‘Go on’, realizing that John just wanted to talk. John collected his thoughts together and began to speak. “I was in denial of my sexuality and wanted to live a conventional life. Married a good friend who had confessed earlier that she had feelings for me. Like a fool I never considered her feelings, just thought about myself. It ended very badly. Within weeks she was frustrated and felt cheated. We hadn’t been intimate, not even once……”

 

“She had no idea?” Sherlock asked.

 

“She did, but then…..”

 

“She expected things will become ‘normal’ once you start living together?”

 

“Um…..I think.”

 

“She made a mistake, as did you. I hope you didn’t pin all the blame just on yourself, did you?”

 

“You know me too well or am I so easy to read?”

 

“Science of deduction John. I knew you were married and recently separated. The spot where your wedding band used to be, I can still see the thin sliver of untanned skin there. But every sign of your ex-wife has been removed from the flat, with meticulous precision, so I can only say this – It was not a happy ending, not even an ending where both of you agreed mutually to split and remain friends later.”

 

“I’ll just say this. She isn’t my _ex-wife_. I wish our relationship had concluded that way but sadly it ended in a disaster. At least for me it was a disaster. She died a few months ago, suddenly. I wish I could turn back the clock and save her. An accident took her life. She is my _late wife_ Sherlock.”

 

Sherlock gasped and hugged him tighter, as if trying to reassure him of his presence and support. This kindness touched the doctor’s heart deeply and then, without warning, a flood of tears swept him away. Before he could control himself he felt tears pour out of his eyes and wet his cheeks and pillow. John let the angst and grief wash out through the droplets, not even trying to stop himself as he clung to Sherlock and heard him whisper ‘It’s ok, let go, it’s ok’.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He's just missing, that's all"

John held on to Sherlock as if he was the last living person in the world. It no longer mattered that he was a complete stranger just over a day ago and twelve years younger than him. At that moment Sherlock was a source of towering strength for John, who needed the moral, psychological, mental and physical support the lad could offer.

 

It worked and soon John’s silent sobs subsided and he became quieter, more at peace, lighter in spirit and mind. He mumbled a thanks and Sherlock placed a kiss on his cheek.

 

His lips were cool, soft, moist and even that slight touch from those juicy buds ignited a fire inside John that he had held back for a long time. But the dams broke and no longer could John treat their proximity as asexual, friendly, devoid of desire. Suddenly, all the other aspects vanished and only the physical need remained. Moments ago he was holding on to a warm and solid body, feeling those comforting and caring arms around him. Now all he could sense was the long, flowing, sexy body pressed against him and the heat from the other man’s groins that spread towards his own.

 

“S-her-lock!”

 

John was surprised at how changed, how horny his voice sounded.

 

Sherlock’s green eyes grew darker with desire. He was breathing heavily, chest rising and falling at an alarming rate.

 

“J-Jawn.”

 

“I….may I…..please….” John’s hands moved downwards under the blanket, he let the pads of his fingers touch the smooth, warm flesh of Sherlock’s flat belly, tracing the muscles right down to his right hipbone.

 

Sherlock nodded. His legs curled up, knees and thighs fell apart, his back bowed up and off the mattress and John felt the hard length trapped in the younger man’s pajama bottoms press against his side. That was the trigger he needed and in a flash he was on top of Sherlock, kissing him hard on the mouth. Sherlock’s lips opened with the same enthusiasm as his legs and within mere seconds his clothes (raggedy old pajamas he had brought with himself) vanished somewhere in the pile of blankets and pillows.

 

Their bodies literally molded into each other and Sherlock found his hands impatiently and somewhat hungrily tearing at John’s clothes. The doctor enjoyed the attention and urgency and in less than a minute he was as naked as Sherlock was, their tongues dueling for dominance.

 

After a long time they parted due to lack of air, both of them breathing heavily. Sherlock’s pupils had dilated completely and he was hard as a rock. John felt him shiver and shudder from what seemed like an oncoming orgasm. He held back for a moment, suddenly feeling as if _something wasn’t adding up_. But Sherlock pressed himself against him and whined with need, causing his self-control and every other thought in his head to crumble into dust. He wanted to make love to Sherlock but there was no time to do the full thing. For now it had to be a quick and immediate release.

 

Again he felt as if something was off but his bodily needs prevented him from thinking too hard about it. There would be time for it later.

 

He brought his hand in front of his mouth and spit a few times in it. Using that as lubricant and some of the slick pouring out of their cocks, he started to jerk them off with a hard hand and firm twisting strokes. “Hnnnnnn,” Sherlock went, arching up into the touch and spreading his legs wide for the first time. John smiled as a bolt of realization struck him and he buried his face in the long neck of his lover, continuing to wank them as Sherlock slowly started to come apart underneath him. He thrust up into John’s fist, enjoying the friction from the insistent rubbing against his older lover’s impressive length as well as the steady stroking from the latter’s hand. In less than three minutes he tensed up and bellowed out John’s name.

 

“Oh…..Gawd…..J-Jawn….JAWWWN!”

 

“Sher…….”

 

John couldn’t complete. His own orgasm took him by surprise and he came and came, his seed mingling with the hot release poured out over his hand by Sherlock’s erupting cock. They shuddered helplessly and wailed noisily, a curse or two escaping them as shudders swept through their bodies and almost knocked them unconscious. John found his eyes falling shut while Sherlock had begun to doze barely seconds after his all-encompassing orgasm.

 

“Y-You….okay?”

 

“Mmmm-hm.”

 

“I….you can sleep here.”

 

John realized he didn’t need to say those words because Sherlock had already made up his mind to do so. He was nearly asleep and only managed to move enough to be able to put his head back into his favorite position, John’s chest.

 

“Well,” John stifled a yawn, “Good night then.”

 

***

 

John woke up to the insistent ringing of his phone. Wary of waking Sherlock up, he quickly jumped out of the bed and rushed to the bathroom to answer it.

 

“Hey Greg!”

 

“Listen, we have got that fellow Jacques in custody. Managed to nab the bastard early this morning from the flat his mistress lives in. She gave him away and coupled with the evidence and other clues provided by your friend, he is going to get indicted easily. But it seems there is a bigger fish hiding behind him, as I had suspected, and we will get to him now. Can you bring your friend to the Yard today so we can take his statement and also ask him a few questions?”

 

John felt a sense of elation he usually felt whenever he had successfully finished a complicated surgery or saved the life of a critically injured patient. Sherlock’s home was saved and the culprit would be punished! What an amazing way to start the day! “Hey Greg, thanks so much for this man,” he said in a tone of heartfelt gratitude, “Of course I can bring my friend over to the Yard today. I have two surgeries scheduled so it will be evening by the time I can do that. Is that okay or do you need him to be there sooner? He is just a kid in his early twenties, not sure he should visit on his own.”

 

“John, is this serious?”

“What is?”

 

“Whatever you have with this ‘friend’?”

 

“Huh? What do you mean really?”

 

“Simple and straightforward meaning John. It seems you really care about him and since he’s much younger, it cannot be pure friendship between you two. You’re dating him, are you not? Come on, you can tell me. It’s about time you had a steady partner to share your life with.”

 

John felt his heart skip a beat. Greg Lestrade was a Scotland Yard DI, not someone who made trivial statements or frivolous assumptions. _What gave me away_ , he wondered. _Did I sound over-protective?_ “Just someone I met recently and yes, we are dating. Early days though.”

 

“Good. Can I meet you both at six pm? Even Mike will be with me by then. He’s going to take care of the court proceedings related to this case, so we can both meet your friend together.”

 

“Done. Thanks again mate.”

 

“Oh don’t thank me. Just doing my job.”

 

John hung up with a huge smile. He walked back into the room and stared at Sherlock who was still fast asleep, most buried under the blankets and only part of his forehead, eyes and tufts of his brown curls visible over the thick comforter. _I’ll wake him up with the good news and some tea_ , he thought with a smile and reached for his clothes.

 

***

 

Mycroft Holmes sat in his plush office, staring absentmindedly at some old family photographs. He kept albums in his office, home, even his cars. It was his defense mechanism against sudden anxiety and guilt attacks, his way of dealing with the demons from the past.

 

You lost him, had you been more careful, he would have still been here with the family, a strapping lad of twenty-three. Your mummy would have been proud of you.

 

Not that anyone had blamed him ever but Mycroft didn’t need anyone else to remind him what he accused himself mercilessly for. Carelessness, stupidity, reckless abandonment of a little child who had been entrusted in his care. Since that fatal day, he had never been able to properly look his parents in the eye, lest he saw a look of disappointment in them and an accusatory stare. Truth be told, he knew why he was such an ice, cold, emotionless fish nowadays. He had not allowed himself to feel any joy or sorrow, elation or disappointment, no matter how his life had been. He had simply cut out all emotions.

 

Ever since they had lost William.

 

Little, pretty William, the apple of everyone’s eyes, with his rosy chubby cheeks, brown curly hair, dimpled chin and sparkling blue-green eyes. Since his arrival, Mycroft had felt a wee bit jealous. He was ten and pretty excited about becoming a big brother but the child had been exceptionally pretty and charming and suddenly when all the attention and affections of the family had shifted to the newcomer, he had begun to feel a bit of resentment. Sometimes he had scolded or intimidate the toddler, simply because of the green-eyed monster.

 

He hadn’t realized, not until the day William had been lost forever, that he had been terribly fond of the baby too. He had been the perfect doting brother but never ever seen himself so, at least not after that incident where he had left the little boy for just a few minutes to get an ice cream for him and a book for himself. After that day all he had done was curse and berate himself for that little stupid act of carelessness.

 

It seemed just like yesterday……

 

***

 

_“N-N…don’ go…”_

_“I will be back in two minutes,” Mycroft said irritably, “Just stay put here.”_

_“But…the monstal….will come….he’ll take me ‘way.”_

_“Don’t be silly. Why are you so slow? Are you going to grow up to be a man or not?”_

_“I wan’ thu be like youu.”_

_“Then stay here. It’s too crowded and I cannot carry you all the time. You’re so chubby it’s like carrying a bag of potatoes. Tiring.”_

_Little William squinted up at him, still holding his large hand with both of his smaller ones. A pleading look in his eyes. Mycroft didn’t want to tell his younger brother the truth but the reason why he didn’t want to carry him to the store opposite was because a bunch of his friends were right there, chatting and laughing. If they saw him carrying his kid brother, they’d inevitably tease him and call him ‘Mikey the nanny’ and ‘Hey where’s your apron granny’. It was broad daylight and he would keep William in his line of sight, he’d be fine. There were so many little kids running around, it wasn’t as if their siblings or parents were stuck to them like glue._

_“I’ll walk Bikey….”_

_“Mikey, not Bikey.”_

_“BNNNIKEY!”_

_“Okay, whatever. Just be here and I will be back. Do you want an ice cream or not?”_

_“I do, I dooo…stlawbely.”_

_“Strawberry ice cream it is then. Just don’t go anywhere, don’t talk to anyone and don’t follow anyone else. Got it?”_

_As Mycroft crossed the busy street he felt a sudden shiver in his spine, as if something bad was going to happen. He turned around and saw William standing right there, the same spot, looking lost, scared and lonely. He changed his mind and was about to turn back when he felt a tug at his arm and saw Jessica Robinson, the coolest and cleverest girl in their class, standing right next to him._

_“Hey Mike, whatcha doing here?”_

_“Dinner with mummy and daddy’s friends. Got bored and walked away for a bit.”_

_“Good, see our entire gang is over there. Come say hi to everyone.”_

_Mycroft didn’t exactly forget his little brother but he took a few minutes longer than he had originally planned, mainly because his friends took up some time. They even invited him to join them for a movie later in the afternoon but Mycroft declined. He had not taken mummy’s permission and had to return immediately to where he had left Sherlock all by himself. “Some other time then,” he said to his friends and went to get the book he wanted._

_Once that was done he almost forgot the ice cream. A look at his watch said he had taken almost ten minutes, as opposed to just five minutes he had promised William for his return. How does it matter, he can’t read a watch, can he? Get the ice cream or the little brat would complain to mummy and she would be cross with you for making a ‘false promise’._

_He got the strawberry ice cream and rushed over to the spot where William had been playing with his ball. The moment he reached, he knew something had gone wrong._

_The ice cream fell from his hands as he saw the ball floating in the fountain waters and on the ground lay a torn portion of William’s name tag. His mum put one on every coat or shirt of her youngest-born, stitching or pinning it on with his full name and address on it, plus the home phone number. She was a bit panicky about such things and always maintained that it was a safety measure, that her son stood a better chance of being returned safely if people knew where he was from and whom to contact. With shaking hands Mycroft picked up the ripped off tag. His baby brother’s full name was William Sherlock Scott Holmes. Now only Willia…..cott Holmes remained._

_“WILLIAM, WILLY, WILL…..!!!”_

_Mycroft shrieked and literally jumped into the waters of the fountain, fearful that his sibling had fallen in. Several hands held him back and a small throng of people gathered as he screamed and shouted his brother’s name over and over again, begging people around him to help him in his search. Some people did offer help and from Mycroft’s wails, gasps and broken statements they figured out that a small boy was lost._

_They searched high and low but there were no signs of William._

_When his parents arrived and found out what had transpired, his mummy collapsed in a swoon while his father started calling all the important people he knew, requesting and soliciting their assistance in looking for his son. Help arrived from many quarters but the three-year old was never found. From announcing a reward to putting half of the Scotland Yard inspectors on the job, Reginald Holmes pulled all stops._

_William was never found._

 

***

 

“Mike….Mycroft…..Mike….please…..come back to me.”

 

“Huhhh?” Mycroft almost fell off the chair. He looked into the worried, concerned and almost fearful eyes of Greg Lestrade. He looked around and saw his younger self standing in one corner of the room, crying his eyes out. He felt both sorry for him as well as ashamed of him.

 

“You had zoned out again,” Greg said gently and handed him a glass of water which Mycroft gratefully accepted, “You must have gone into your mind palace and started reliving that day again, haven’t you? It’s been two decades since and even if your parents were initially unhappy, they have forgiven you a long time ago. You were barely more than a kid yourself and what are we all like when we are thirteen or fourteen. Blaming and torturing yourself will not bring your brother back. Accept it, maybe he is…..”

 

“DON’T,” Mycroft stood up and aggressively shook his finger at his partner, “Please don’t dare to even suggest that. He is alive. I know, he is. He’s just…..missing, that’s all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you note, the name of our protagonist here is simply 'Sherlock'. Hopefully by the end of this story he will become a 'Holmes'.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft says 'no money or insurance can protect you from heartbreak'

“Good morning, rise and shine and be prepared for a fabulous news.”

 

“Hmmmffff….”

 

Sherlock looked dazzling even in his just-woken avatar. He had the sort of natural youthful glow and beauty that needed little grooming, attire or prepping to enhance it. Even with his bed hair, sleepy eyes, slightly stubbled cheek and disheveled state he was still quite handsome and very fresh-faced. Rubbing his eyes he sat up and reached out to take John’s hand, squeezing it gently. “G’morning Jawn,” he yawned and stretched his long legs and free arm, “Time for you to get to work already? I wanted to sleep in a bit…..wait what….did you….did you just say there is good news?”

 

John nodded.

 

“What kinda good news?”

 

“Jacques is in custody. He will never bother you, Victor or your landlady again.”

 

“Wow! Really? This is awesome news.”

 

“It is, isn’t it? Here, drink your tea.”

 

Sherlock took the cup and sipped from it, letting out a very satisfied exhale. “How can I thank you Jawn?” He gushed, slowly absorbing the news and getting more and more ecstatic, “Does this mean Mrs. Hudson’s house is safe and she no longer has to pay him hush-money every month? Did your friends do this for you, on your request? God, I can hardly believe it. Thanks a lot Jawn, thanks so much! Really…..I had no idea this would get taken care of so quickly….just tell me how can I do something for you in return. I really want to.”

 

“Actually you can,” John winked.

 

“I won’t accept payment for last night?” Sherlock offered.

 

“No. On the contrary I want you to get another five thousand pounds instead. Isn’t that the upfront amount you need to pump in along with your student loan, so you can rejoin University and continue with your post grad course in biochemistry?”

 

“Yes, I do. But I don’t want to take any money I haven’t earned. I told you I am not someone who accepts alms and doles.”

 

“Then earn it.”

 

Sherlock’s eyes widened, “How?”

 

“Spend a week with me as my friend and companion. Take five grand for that. You have already saved ten and once you deposit fifteen grand you can instantly ease back into the University course you were forced to abandon for lack of funds and the constant threat of homelessness due to that bastard Jacques.”

 

Sherlock thought for a long moment while John patiently waited and sipped his tea. “Look, I know we got a bit intimate last night….but honestly, I am not the person you probably need John,” he said in an unsure tone, “The money is very tempting and I do intend to get back to academics at all costs but five grand just to spend time with you, sleep in your bed, eat your food and….basically do nothing of importance for you, it almost feels like cheating. You have already done a big favor to me, in fact all of us back at 221B owe you a lot, I don’t think I can feed off your generosity anymore. That would make me feel like an opportunist, a parasite.”

 

“Christ!” John exclaimed, “How do you even come up with such tall words and imagined phrases huh? Opportunist? Parasite? Generosity? Cheating? My dear fellow, you have done more for me than anyone else, my friends and family included. You helped me find joy in little things in life, you made me want to cook again, you taught me the value of selflessness, if anything I am the one who owes you.”

 

“Rubbish.”

 

“No, it’s your head which is filled with rubbish. Stop over-analyzing things and just say yes or no. Can you do that for me?”

 

Sherlock gave him a sheepish grin, “Yes.”

 

“Thanks,” John tousled his hair, “Go home, give Mrs. Hudson the good news and get some clothes and other essential items for yourself. Take my Mercedes AMG SUV. I’ll have to head to the clinic shortly as I have two surgeries today and three post-operative check-ups to be done. Around five-forty-five in the evening meet me outside the Scotland Yard office. The detective inspector Lestrade has called you there for some formalities. Signing of documents, some questions to be answered, routine procedure, that’s all.”

 

Sherlock nodded, “Okay.”

 

“What happened? You look unwilling.”

 

“Um….no, I will go. I know it will help build a solid case against Jacques. There is something else actually. Jawn….”

 

“Yes? Go on. What is it?”

 

“People make fun of my name often. I don’t want to be called Sherlock there. Is it possible for you to call me Shane or Sean.”

 

“Shane it will be then. What’s in a name anyways?”

 

***

 

Mrs. Hudson stood at the doorway and watched as Sherlock whistled and sang a merry tune while chatting with Victor who had returned from his daily-wage work as a factory-hand. His workplace was located in the outskirts of the city and it took him nearly three hours to commute to and fro from work every day. He did a night shift and came home around breakfast time and by sheer coincidence Sherlock had also walked in at the same time as his flat mate and bestie. Even while living under the same roof, they had met each other almost after a week and were super excited about that. Naturally the conversation simply went on and on.

 

“Seriously?” Victor was bouncing on the bed, “This property is no longer going to be considered ‘under dispute’. Mrs. Hudson won’t need to give away all the rent to those bastards. We will be able to live normally again.”

 

“Yes, yes, yes,” Sherlock punched the air and jumped around the room, goofy grin plastered on his face, “Mrs. Hudson will now make profits from her diner she runs and actually afford better health insurance. I can go back to Uni and you can also complete your A-levels. Once you have that, you can actually look after the diner and help Mrs. Hudson with it. She’ll need someone she can trust and someone who won’t ask for astronomical wages. You won’t have to be in buses and subways for three hours a day and work a graveyard shift. All thanks to Doctor John Hamish Watson.”

 

“How did you manage to become his friend?” Victor asked, “He sounds like a wealthy, very successful and mature man! A kind one and a society gentleman in some ways.”

 

“In every possible way. He’s so charming and generous and intelligent.”

 

“Goody! Does that mean he’s started to fall for you? I mean, it could be a case of male Cinderella and the Prince Charming….was it Prince Charming who was Cindy’s boyfriend?”

 

“Sherlock,” Mrs. Hudson interrupted the conversation, “Let Victor sleep now. He has to be back at work in a few hours again and needs his rest. I have prepared a light lunch, your favorite tuna salad sandwiches. Come and eat with me. I need to talk to you.”

 

Sherlock quietly followed her downstairs while Victor went to his room to take a nap. As soon as the sandwiches were on the plate, Mrs. Hudson asked, “Where are you going Sherlock? Are you going to be in London or is he taking you to some place…..like Paris or Brussels or Geneva?”

 

“Why Paris, Brussels, Geneva?”

 

“Listen, I know.”

 

Sherlock picked up a sandwich but couldn’t lift it to his mouth. He gave her a silent look.

 

“I have seen life and all its ups and downs,” she went on, “I know what kind of jobs these are. I also know you boys so well that the moment you do something, I know exactly what it is. When Victor got into illegal work you were so sure he isn’t doing anything wrong but I had that hunch, didn’t I? Well, I had the same hunch about your work and I know what it is. I tried to ask you a few times but you evaded me completely, never gave me an answer. However, when I saw John Watson, I was a little more assured and comfortable about your wellbeing. Please tell me the truth Sherlock, is he the one who’s asked for a week with you?”

 

Sherlock nodded.

 

“You accepted?”

 

Again, a nod.

 

“You don’t need to do these things anymore. By your own admission, things have changed since Jacques was arrested. He won’t be out anytime soon and this house will be legally mine within weeks. I can spend the rent I get from the Madisons and the Knightleys on running the monthly expenses and whatever I make from the diner is sufficient for you and Victor to resume your education. You don’t have to do this, son.”

 

Sherlock grabbed her hand, “Just this time Mrs. Hudson. I won’t do this again. I haven’t been into this for long, just the past three odd months, and I promise to stop as soon as I am back from this…..assignment. I don’t want you to spend the last penny you make on feeding, clothing and educating us. What about your old age? What about your health? What about some of your own dreams?”

 

She smiled, “Once you boys are working and have steady incomes you can pay me back. I am not really giving away this money, I am merely loaning it out to you.”

 

“If you insist,” Sherlock rolled his eyes.

 

“Actually, I do. But enough of that, tell me what you’ve decided about John Watson’s offer. He is buying your time and company Sherlock. He is a gentleman and kind-hearted and refined. Not one of those ghastly brutes. He won’t hurt you on purpose. But you must still understand the difference between a proposal and a proposition. He is hiring you to sleep with you, he isn’t asking you to marry him.”

 

“I am not even expecting a marriage proposal. Mrs. Hudson I am a….”

“Don’t use that word in my presence, young man.”

 

Sherlock shut his mouth.

 

Mrs. Hudson sighed and shook her head. “It’s been nearly ten years since you two came into my life,” she said as she filled Sherlock’s glass with chocolate milk, “You are the sons I never had. Sorry if I am being intrusive and overbearing but I can’t stop myself from warning you whenever I see that either of you are about to make a mistake. It’s easier to treat someone as a client if you never see them again after a night together. But this man’s taking things a bit too far. He came here to pick you up, he paid you to spend a second night with him, now he wants a full week with you. Such men are rare, very admirable and easy to fall in love with, but even the rarest and nicest of men eventually change courses when the wind changes. He won’t be in a relationship with you. Never.”

 

“I am not in love with him,” Sherlock squinted slightly, avoiding eye contact.

 

“Then ensure you don’t fall in love later.”

 

“Don’t worry. I know my place. As for him, he knows it too.”

 

***

 

Mycroft and Greg looked up as John Watson entered the room with a tall, lanky young man. The moment Mycroft looked at him, his head spun a little and a cold sweat broke out at the back of his neck.

 

Had William been alive, he would have looked something like this. Tall, long face, green eyes, dark brown curly hair…..

 

“Meet Shane, my friend,” John introduced Sherlock to both Mycroft and Greg, “He and I have known each other only for a short while and he’s the same person who supplied me that file of evidence, hints and clues about Jacques and his gang, their hideouts and a list of their crimes and clients. Shane, this is detective inspector Gregory Lestrade and that gentleman over there is London’s best barrister and the author of three of the most popular books on law and law practice in UK, Mycroft Holmes.”

 

“Shane,” Mycroft asked curiously, “Is that your name?”

 

“Yes, that’s what was just announced,” Sherlock didn’t like being put under the spotlight and instantly decided to use his cockiness to combat it.

 

“Not anything else?”

 

“No, I am Shane. By the way, I was supposed to be asked about Jacques, not myself. Or am I a suspect now as well?”

 

“No,” Greg intervened, a bit taken aback by the exchange, “It’s still about Jacques. Come on, let’s go to my cabin and talk.”

 

He gave a meaningful glance at John who understood the unspoken message immediately. Mycroft, while being a brilliant man at his profession and also a good author, like John, was essentially a bit of an eccentric at times and hard to understand, or like. The last thing they wanted was for a war of words to break out between Mycroft and Sherlock and keeping them apart was the best way to avert that kind of disaster. “Hey Mike,” he said to the barrister, “Let’s grab a coffee, shall we? I had been thinking about your mummy for a while. She hasn’t been over for a checkup for more than a year. How is she holding up nowadays?”

 

“She’s fine, she’s been the same really,” Mycroft said, turning again and again to look at Sherlock, “The other day she was asking about you too. She likes the way you talk to her and explain things to her in a layman’s language. When she understands things better, she follows instructions properly and ever since she’s been in your care, she claims that she feels healthier and younger than before.”

 

“I am glad to hear that.”

 

“I was hoping you’d visit her in about two weeks. Formal invite shall follow soon.”

 

“If it is for a medical checkup I suggest she comes to the clinic and…..”

“Oh no, a small engagement party.”

 

John’s eyes widened and a big smile came over his face. “Why Mike, am I correct in thinking what I am thinking? Greg and you?”

 

Mycroft nodded with a shrug and a casual gesture of his hands which indicated ‘even I am super perplexed’. “My partner, my mummy and my daddy have joined forces and overruled me by three votes to one. On a day I refuse to even have a drink, they want me to get engaged and pop a bottle of bubbly. But then that’s family for you, sometimes you don’t agree with them and they annoy the hell out of you but deep down you love them to bits.”

 

John fell silent. He had no comeback to that or anything to add to it. His family life and relations had been somewhat different. He thought about his younger days when his parents, Harry and he would sit and have dinner together every evening. Slowly that had come down to just him and his mum and dad. Finally, it was down to just him and his mum. Now, he was hopeful that Harry would be there at the dinner table, with her partner……

 

….Suddenly a strange question was asked and it brought him back to the present.

 

“How did you get to know Shane?”

 

“Um….”

 

Mycroft took a deep breath and handed John a coffee, taking one for himself. “It’s none of my business John but since I respect you and like you, I find you to be a good, kind, educated, talented and honest man, I thought it’s my duty to warn you that people are known by the company they keep. He is a very beautiful boy but slightly coarse, he’s definitely not from a family anywhere close to your status or privileges, and he certainly doesn’t come from money. Have fun but don’t let it become a serious affair. One fine morning you’d wake up bound and gagged and he and his real partner would have escaped with everything valuable you own. It’s all right, the money won’t matter much because you earn well and I am sure you have insurance, but no money or insurance can protect you from heartbreak.”

 

John’s jaw dropped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft is a bit of a snotty bitch here. But he could be redeemed. I am tempted to redeem him and make him loveable by the end of this story. Let's see.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We have a full week together"

For a few moments John thought a bad joke was being played on him. Maybe he had underestimated Mycroft’s powers of observation and his perceptiveness. He didn’t want to contradict the man’s truth and become a liar, nor did he want to confirm the truth and insult poor Sherlock.

 

“Don’t take me otherwise,” the barrister went on, interpreting John’s silence as anger, “You’ve already had tough times in the recent past. I am sure you don’t need more to add to that. Find a nice man closer to your age, from a similar background, in fact Greg and I would be happy to introduce you to a few fine candidates. You played matchmaker for us, now it’s our turn to do the same to you.”

 

“I appreciate your concern for me and I am truly sorry about what I am going to say next Mike,” John decided to draw the line and send a firm message to his friend that he was not going to accept any further comments on his companion, whether Sherlock was a paid escort, a colleague’s brother or the boy next door didn’t matter to him. He respected him and expected his friends to do the same. “If you knew such fine men who are perfect for me, then you would have found a similar one for yourself years ago. I am sure you know a lot of eligible bachelors, but I don’t think I need to look for anyone now. I am happy the way I am, in fact I have not been as happy as this all my life. I’ll be fine, thanks for your advice.”

 

Mycroft looked fairly surprised and not in a nice way. _I was only providing wise counsel but you seem to have decided to ruin yourself_ , his expression suggested. Despite that, John glanced at him evenly, even smiling a little to show that he was perfectly at ease with his decision.

 

“All right. Suit yourself.”

 

“No offense meant man.”

“Don’t worry, none taken.”

 

***

 

After Sherlock had left, Mycroft walked into Greg’s cabin. “Bright young fella,” Greg said, “He’s done what my team does. He was saying he’d like to be a consulting detective. Imagine that.”

 

“I can imagine that,” Mycroft replied, “Can you imagine his real profession? He is a whore.”

 

Greg almost choked on the water he was drinking. He gave his boyfriend a startled look. “I know that shocks you but believe me, that’s what he is. John was lonely, he needed an outlet for all his frustrations and grief, so he hired a hooker. No harm done, hire them and use them and pay them off in full. Let them go. Just let them go and move on. But the emotional fool that John is, he’s started to treat this ‘Shane’ as a real partner or love interest. He will get his heart broken again. When he spoke about his marriage, remember we told him he should end it immediately as it was a fake and a sham?”

 

“Y-Yes….but…..”

 

“He didn’t listen to us and continued with that hollow marriage and look what happened afterwards,” Mycroft went on, not noticing that Sherlock had forgotten his sunglasses and had come back to fetch them, “Now he is treating a paid companion as a real companion. How soon before he gets robbed, dumped or used? That fellow is too good looking to stick to a single client. He’s a whore, he will make the most of his looks, sensuality and charm and make as much hay while the sun shines. I had once been careless in life and look what I lost back then. I haven’t recovered till date from that loss. Carelessness and stupidity cost people dearly. This fellow, Shane or whoever he is, I have a feeling he’s not even telling us his real name….these kinds of boys use different names with different customers.”

 

Sherlock cleared his throat.

 

Mycroft’s heart nearly stopped. But he was a man with nerves of iron and a spine of steel and soon composed himself and glared back at Sherlock who was glaring at him. Greg noticed the sunglasses and decided to break the imbroglio. “Hey, here they are,” he handed them over.

 

“Thanks,” Sherlock muttered, eyes still on Mycroft.

 

“I’ll call you if we need something.”

 

“Sure.”

 

The moment Sherlock left again, Greg turned to Mycroft and snapped, ‘You and your big mouth.’

 

***

 

“Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock please.”

 

Sherlock refused to talk to John. He simply curled up at one corner of the couch and stared at a spot on the carpet, a sullen expression on his face. He was red in the cheeks and ears and his bottom lip was swollen from repeated biting of the soft flesh.

 

“Have I done something to offend you?” John asked sincerely when Sherlock refused to answer one more time and kept ignoring him as if he was invisible and inaudible, “Have I said anything that might suggest I disrespect you or anything even close? If I am not the culprit then why take someone else’s anger out on me? It’s been an hour since our return from Scotland Yard and you’re sitting there like a statue, you look so sad it breaks my heart and when I ask you if I can help all I get is the silent treatment.”

 

“If you-you didn’t tell that Holmes fellow, h-how did he know that I am a……”

 

John choked on the next words that almost came out of his mouth. _Did he tell you, did he dare…_

 

“As you know, I got out of the car and waved you past, saying I had something to fetch from the DI’s room,” Sherlock cleared his throat, his eyes a bit bright and watery, “My sunglasses were lying on his table and I had forgotten to pick them up on my way out. So, when I am at the door and about to knock on it to announce my presence, I see that stuff-shirt, tight-arse, holier-than-thou bastard inside. He was talking to Lestrade about me and calling me a whore. Oh yeah I forgot, _I am one_ , aren’t I? I guess I shouldn’t even be feeling bad about being called out for my ‘splendidly derogatory profession’, isn’t it?”

 

“Sherlock listen….”

 

“It’s not written on my face. Someone must have told him.”

 

“Sherlock please….”

 

“Greg didn’t know. If you didn’t tell him either then how did he just assume?”

 

“SHERLOCK LISTEN TO ME.”

 

“WHAT???”

 

They looked at each other and suddenly the tension between them just dissipated into thin air. Sherlock sighed and opened out his arms and John wasted no time in closing the distance. They hugged, resting their chins on each other’s shoulders and just enjoying the reconciliation following that brief misunderstanding. “Honey, it wasn’t me” John murmured and realized that had no idea how that ‘affectionate address’ had found its way to his mouth. It just happened. It felt like the right thing to call Sherlock by.

 

“I am not lying,” Sherlock said in a small voice.

 

“I know you are not. He tried to warn me to stay away from you.”

 

“He hates me, why?”

 

“Class-conscious maybe. How does it matter? I will ensure you don’t need to be in his presence again. Okay?”

 

“Okay.”

 

“He’s had a sad life Sherlock. For all his money, success and status, he’s a broken, bitter man.”

 

“Serves him right then,” Sherlock didn’t mind being mean in retaliation, “Though I am quite sure his money and tremendous success sort of makes up a little for his so-called unhappiness.”

 

“That statement is not worthy of you my friend,” John admonished him. Just as he had defended Sherlock, he was going to defend Mycroft too. As a fair man, he didn’t want to encourage bitchiness on any side.

 

When Sherlock began to pout he kissed the top of his head and said, “Don’t get me wrong hon. Mycroft is a friend but that doesn’t mean I am blind to his faults. He can be very acerbic at times, he is very class and status conscious and he is power-hungry and emotionless at times. But he is also a very capable, intelligent and kick-arse lawyer. He is a man of his word and his integrity is very high at a personal and professional level. You know, when he was just thirteen, his younger brother went missing while the toddler was under his supervision. He has never forgiven himself for that and that bitterness he has towards himself sometimes manifests in his occasional nastiness towards other people.”

 

“Sorry to hear that,” Sherlock said, looking a bit contrite, “Did they find the child?”

 

“Greg told me recently about this. No, they never found him. Everyone aside from Mycroft believes that the child is dead. His name was William. Little Will.”

 

“God!”

 

“But Mike feels he’s missing. Someday he will find him.”

 

“You know what Jawn, when people firmly believe they can do something, they eventually succeed in doing just that. Maybe Mycroft’s belief and faith isn’t totally unfounded. One day he might really find his brother and say ‘Here, I told you so’. But the biggest question mark is, how will he even recognize him? That fellow, William or little Will, he is no longer little! He must be like what…..my age by now?”

 

John took a deep breath, “Yeah. But let’s talk about something else now. We have a full week together. Any suggestions what we can do to best utilize this time?”

 

“Hmmm,” Sherlock thought hard, “If you have surgeries scheduled every day of this week then we can’t really plan much. But I do have an idea or two about what we could do. We could go somewhere for a day or two, a short holiday.”

 

“I have two days off this week and can take an additional day off. No important appointments on that day, so someone can fill in for me. How about we go to….say, Paris? Have you been there before?”

 

“No. Strange!”

 

“Strange in what sense?”

 

“Mrs. Hudson was asking me if you’re going to take me to Paris and you just said it. Old Hudders is really sharp when it comes to such things!!! Yeah, I would love to go to Paris, I have never been there before. And before you ask me, yes I do have a passport though I have never travelled out of the country.”

 

***

 

When bedtime arrived, Sherlock tried to get into his old pajamas but his host stopped him. Moments later John pulled out a sexy ensemble from his closet for Sherlock. It was a pair of flimsy shorts that barely covered his privates and a cropped sleep shirt which showed plenty of flat belly. Sherlock looked at it, eyes wide, a smirk on his lips as he held it before himself for good measure and size. “At this rate I better not wear anything,” he snickered, “But seriously John, did you really find time to buy something like this for me? Or does this belong to you?”

 

“Look at me and my height,” John said crookedly, “Does it seem like it could belong to me?”

 

Sherlock giggled and started to walk towards the bathroom when John reached out and grabbed his arm. “No,” he insisted gently but firmly, “Change your clothes right here.” He noticed instantly how Sherlock’s demeanor changed and his cheeks darkened with a roseate blush. He swallowed with an audible click, then hesitantly started to undress. In order to give him a bit more comfort, John purposefully stared away from him and instead watched the younger man in mirror. _So I was right about him_ , he thought. Once the time is right, I will ask him openly and frankly.

 

John got a brief flash of Sherlock’s pale globes as he dropped his pants and undershorts and got into the butt hugging tiny pants John had gotten for him. His skin was smooth, unlined, milky white with just a tiny smattering of freckles in some places.

 

God, he was beautiful. His body was the sort one would want to worship for hours and then ravish for days. John could feel himself get hard as a rock within seconds. _True, unadulterated male beauty and youthful freshness_ , there was no way he could remain unaffected by this.

 

Finally, the young man was ready. He self-consciously pulled up his shorts and then tried to pull down his cropped top. “Where did you get these from?” He asked, trying not to face John.

 

John understood the reason and wondered. _You have an erection, just like me. Why’re you trying to hide it? Aren’t you supposed to be experienced in this field?_

 

“Um….let me brush my teeth,” Sherlock scratched behind his ear and padded towards the bathroom. John didn’t stop him but moments later he also followed the younger man there. Instantly Sherlock spat out the toothpaste. “Leave,” he whined.

 

“Why?”

“I am brushing my teeth,” Sherlock was squirming, “I have to pee.”

 

John felt a tremendous need to show some affection towards the younger man who had managed to break open the hard edges of his defense and crawl his way into his heart. He stood pressed against Sherlock, wrapping his arms around him and hugging him tightly from behind. His hard length pressed against Sherlock’s butt and the back of his legs and the gasp that shuddered through him matched a similar one in John. Their eyes locked in the mirror and Sherlock, with toothpaste still smeared on his lips, leaned back a little to show his acquiescence to John’s unspoken request.

 

“There is no need to hide any part of our lives from each other,” the doctor said thickly, his breath hot against Sherlock’s neck. The young man shivered again and nodded. Moments later Sherlock awkwardly relieved himself and jumped a bit when John reached out and pressed the button to flush the toilet. “Um…..” he hesitated for a moment and looked at John, “I draw the line at this. When I take a shit that door remains closed, okay?”

 

“Okay hon, okay,” John said with a broad smile.

 

The moment they were out of the bathroom John grabbed Sherlock, spun him around and clasped his head in his hands. Lowering the younger man’s head a bit, he kissed him on the mouth and let his tongue explored the minty fresh mouth. The taste of toothpaste, a slight aftertaste of wine and Sherlock’s unique taste, everything combined to form an intoxicating flavor that ignited sparks of arousal in John’s brain. They walked to the bed, still locked in the kiss, till the backs of their legs hit the edge of the bed and they tumbled down together.

 

John climbed on top of Sherlock, pinned his arms above his head and stared into his face.

 

Sherlock stared at him, mesmerized, then his eyes fluttered shut and his mouth opened wide for the next kiss.

 

“God, I could just eat you up whole,” he whispered.

 

“Cannibal,” Sherlock said breathlessly.

 

“Am I now?”

 

“Uhhnn-hnnn.”

 

“You like cannibals?”

 

“Love them.”

 

They rolled on the bed, kissing, nipping, sucking, licking each other as much as they could. Sherlock was a little passive at first but as passion built between them he got bolder and began touching John as much as John was touching him. His participation, John noted, was totally based on his arousal and he was doing nothing a typical ‘whore’ would do.

 

When John’s fingers, coated with lube, probed at his tiny opening Sherlock shivered and a flash of fear and apprehension clouded his blue-green eyes. “Anything wrong?” John asked, curiously watching his lover’s expressions.

 

Sherlock shook his head and John began to massage and relax the tight opening that was tense and almost ‘shut’. Slowly Sherlock began to relax and his legs parted wider, allowing John to slip the first finger inside. At first Sherlock tensed up but John gave him plenty of time to adjust before a second finger was added. Clutching at John’s arm, moaning softly and hiding his face in the older man’s neck, Sherlock began to rock his hips in the same rhythm in which he was being finger-fucked. “Relax little one,” John said, feeling overwhelmingly protective of the lad in his bed, “I’ll be good to you!”

 

“Uhhhhh,” was all Sherlock could manage to say.

 

A third finger slipped in and Sherlock’s hips jerked upwards. To make it even more enjoyable for him, John probed insistently in the warm and velvety channel till he found the little treasure gland buried in the depths of his lover.

 

The moment that happened, a clear stream of slick poured out of Sherlock’s cock. John noticed it and wrapped his free hand around the long, hard cock which was straining upwards and red with the blood flooding to his groin. He was impossibly aroused and the noises he was making was so sexy that John almost spilled his seed at that point. He rubbed at the sweet spot again, to enhance Sherlock’s pleasure, and was rewarded with a loud moan.

 

Seconds later Sherlock’s eyes got a panicky look and then a loud wail came from deep within his chest. Milky spurts shot out of his cock and landed all over him as soft moans escaped his lips and he dug his fingernails into John’s arms at the moment of ecstasy.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Intimacy deepens between John and Sherlock and they soon meet a 'friend' of John's.

“I-I am so…..sorry,” Sherlock mumbled, blushing red as a tomato when he realized he had cum without things even reaching to a point where they had both stood a chance of mutual pleasure. It had been quick, way too quick, but he could hardly have kept any controls over his body. John had brought him to a point of no return and he had succumbed. His eyes had a look of fear and disappointment in them and he mumbled ‘sorry’ again and again.

 

“So this is your first time,” John said as soon as Sherlock had come down from the high.

 

Sherlock didn’t answer him. He simply rolled over and buried his face in the pillow and refused to speak, his entire body flushed pink from the embarrassment. John sighed and kissed up the younger man’s spine, starting from the swell of his buttocks to his neck, licking at a spot behind his right ear. “Hey, I understood it last night,” he whispered, keeping his voice non-threatening and as gentle as he could, “Your responsiveness was so natural and there was an inherent coyness in you that no paid escort would display. And what happened today, there’s no way someone who has experience in paid sex with strangers can get this aroused and that too so quickly.”

 

Sherlock held his breath. He was turning redder now. A soft whimper came out of his throat.

 

“I have had a few flings before,” John explained, “I know it when a man is an arse-virgin. You were so tight down there and the way you tensed up, Sherlock, we will do this after a short break but first I need you to tell me why you lied to me. People who have been in this trade try to hide that part of their lives later but I have never seen or heard of a person who isn’t an escort but portrays himself as one.”

 

“I-I-I didn’t intend to……”

 

“Then why?”

 

“I have been with…..women.”

 

“Oh!”

 

“But it never felt ‘normal’. Actually I had been with only one woman. Much older. She was here for a few weeks and I slept with her. Every orgasm felt like a chore even though she was not bad looking, had experience and was very considerate about my virgin status. Then, you came along and I thought…..if I like men then why not get hired by a man. How-however…..had I told you I have no experience in this line and I haven’t done half of the things a regular escort would do, maybe you wouldn’t have…..you wouldn’t have…..”

 

“I wouldn’t have hired you?” John asked, shaking his head and smiling, “No, I would have hired you no matter what because I was psychologically intrigued and stimulated mentally by you. But I never mentioned that, did I? That’s why you misunderstood me and that’s a sort of judgement I probably deserve. If you played the prostitute then I also played the typical client. I didn’t give you the comfort zone to open up and tell me the truth.”

 

“I am sorry,” Sherlock mumbled, his voice muffled by the pillow, “I shouldn’t have lied. Do you want me to leave?”

 

“No, dear God, no,” John said as he kissed between Sherlock’s shoulder blades, “This actually makes me want you more, that whatever happened just now was a mutual attraction between us and not just an ‘obligation. However, there is something else I would want you to do.” He paused and felt the tension seep back into Sherlock’s nude form. “Turn around honey,” he whispered and gently, carefully made Sherlock roll over and lie on his back, “From now onwards, stop assuming the worst, okay? I am not the sort of man who’d treat you like an object. You are a human being with a soul and I shall never forget that. I won’t hurt you, physically or otherwise, I promise.”

 

Sherlock threw his arms around John and hugged him tight, breathing heavily. John hugged him back, feeling a strange sense of belonging with this young man. Were they destined to meet? Was this pre-ordained by their fate? What was the universe trying to tell them?

 

“Jawn…..”

 

“Hmmmm?”

 

“Make love to me?”

 

“You sure?”

 

“Now I am.”

 

***

 

The overwhelming tightness around his cock made him want to scream with pleasure. John managed to rein in those screams but as he began to move and Sherlock wailed incessant with every deep thrust he made, his self-controls started to slip away.

 

After a minute he began to groan loudly.

 

Palms placed flat against the mattress on either side of Sherlock, John rose and fell over the younger man like a man possessed, his body now controlling his mind and not the other way around. He felt the tight channel around him start to tighten even further and Sherlock’s face once again started to contort with pleasure. “Jawn,” the younger man begged, raising his hips to meet his thrusts, “Please touch me, touch me there.”

 

John nodded and sat on his knees between the young man’s raised legs. He teasingly grabbed Sherlock’s cock with his right hands and pushed in the index finger of his left one into the now-stretched hole, right next to his cock. “Like this?” He asked, his voice tight as he felt his orgasm slowly and steadily begin to build and intensify.

 

“Huhhh, yesss, feels so gooood, don’t stop, please don’t stop!!!”

 

John had no intentions of stopping and he continued to fuck Sherlock into the mattress, introducing two more fingers into the lubed opening and moving them in tandem with his hips. Sherlock wrapped his legs tighter around John, literally drawing him in deeper with every thrust till John was wondering if his balls would also go in! The result was a creamy explosion that took them both by surprise as they came at the exact same moment. John felt the contractions start around his cock and at the same time a pulsating tremor started in his groins. Within seconds he erupted inside Sherlock and came copiously, while his fingers were coated with Sherlock’s second load and his ears filled with the combined sounds of their ecstasy.

 

Sherlock shook and shuddered like a man who had just gotten a high voltage shock. John would have paused and asked him if he was okay but his own body was beyond control by then, shuddering and moving with short, jerking thrusts as he experienced the biggest orgasm ever. They began to tremble and their loud shouts tapered off into soft moans and pants, John collapsing with a grunt on top of Sherlock and Sherlock’s long, long legs falling limply back against the mattress.

 

“Mmmmhhhhh,” the younger man went, eyes closing in bliss.

 

“That was huge,” John muttered.

 

“Biggest one ever.”

 

“Oh, I said that aloud?”

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

“You okay honey?”

 

“Little sore. Ask me tomorrow. Nah, just kidding, I am fine. That soreness feels good really.”

 

“Wanna soak in a tub of nice, hot water. I have heard it helps.”

 

Sherlock curled up in John’s arms as soon as John had pulled out and lain beside him. “That’s very kind of you Jawn but I am so tired I don’t think I can move or even sit up. But I can’t even sleep, I am a little bit…..”

 

“Edgy?” John asked, stroking Sherlock’s hairs, “I can identify with that. I feel the same myself.”

 

Sherlock let out a sigh and nodded against John’s shoulder, settling down in that position. John felt his glorious, long, flowing body mold effortlessly against his own and within moments his mind was made up. If Sherlock had trusted him and revealed different aspects of his life, it was now his turn to show him similar trust and faith. Maybe that’s why his paths had crossed with this man. Opening up with him, telling him a few soul-searing secrets from his past, it didn’t sound impossible.

 

“Let’s talk for a while then,” he said softly, turning his head to kiss the soft curls nestled on his shoulder. He felt another nod there.

 

“Mary Morstan,” John began in a very soft and level voice, so as to talk and soothe his lover at the same time, “My best friend, girlfriend and then my wife. She was a very nice girl, bright and intelligent and very practical and caring. While I struggled with my sexuality and went through a series of disastrous flings that all went south after the first two or three dates, she was going through the same kind of situation but in a different way. She was a strong-willed girl, she didn’t like men who tried to control her and she preferred to live by her own standards. Naturally not many men were able to keep up with such a strong, opinionated woman who clearly wore the pants.”

 

“You loved her?”

 

“As a friend, lots. She stood by me during a lot of my turbulent times and I reciprocated by fending off scornful ex’s who were upset that she had moved on. Finally a point arrived where we were both over thirty and wondering if we had any luck at a steady relationship.”

 

“Hmmm?”

 

“Then we made a huge mistake. Fed up with our situations, we thought that the safest way to be happy and in a meaningful relationship was to marry a friend.”

 

“Friendship isn’t love John. That’s why I told Victor ‘no’, a year ago.”

 

“Your childhood mate?”

 

“Yeah. He told me he loves me….but it’s all sorted now. He has someone else. He’s seeing them for some time. Mrs. Hudson has no idea yet that he’s also gay, or at least bi.”

 

“That old dame is cleverer than you think,” John laughed.

 

Sherlock snuggled closer, “I know. What happened after your marriage to Mary?”

 

“We had arrived at an understanding that we would live like friends, housemates and comrades. Things started off well. If I were to count my blessings at the beginning of our marriage, I am sure I would have run out of fingers. But after six months things started to dip and went from bad to worse after that. She insisted we have a child. I told her I could do anything for her but making love to her was not an option. It was not viable. Then she insisted on an IVF or using a surrogate. Now, I could have said yes but I wasn’t keen to have kids. Kids are a big responsibility, you can’t just ‘have’ them and then expect things to fall in place as if by magic. Our relationship was already far too unconventional. When the kids grew up, we were bound to be confronted with awkward questions.”

 

“Let me guess, she didn’t like it.”

 

“Things just changed after that, changed into something I still dread to remember. Her temper began to grow volatile and there were lots of shouting and throwing things, breaking things, hurling things at each other. At first I tried to be wise for both of us but pushed beyond a point I reacted violently as well. Once I threw her against a wall, once she locked me in a bathroom and I kicked down the door and smashed her phone in anger. She began to sleep around and even though I warned her that she was treading on thin ice, that she needed to be careful who she was letting into her bed, she defiantly told me it was none of my business because my ‘cock’ was useless for her.”

 

John fell silent. He was feeling better by talking but at the same time he felt a sense of dread as he approached the final leg of his story. Sensing his unease, Sherlock raised his head and looked into John’s eyes. “You don’t have to, if you don’t feel up to it,” he whispered.

 

“No, I think I need to say this,” John cleared his throat and exhaled slowly, “One of them blackmailed her and she came to me, asking for help. I was upset but I did help and for a few weeks things seemed like the initial days of marriage. But then it occurred to me that this was a relationship that had reached a dead-end. It was started on the wrong principles and naturally it would never stay on the right track. There was no need for us to derail our lives by investing too much into a hollow marriage.”

 

“I told her she was free to go but she got cold feet and refused. After months of silent treatment, arguing, bickering, crying and finally long talks, she agreed. I felt hugely guilty, to be honest. To make myself look ‘straight’ in my mother’s eyes, I was the one who had initially broached the idea of a marriage. She had played along, perhaps expecting that someday it would become a normal relationship between a man and a woman.”

 

“I wanted to set her up for life, give her a nice neat sum as a cushion, buy a flat for her, give her the moral support a friend should. But she never gave me a chance to redeem myself. She had an accident and that’s where she left me feeling guilty for life. I was fed up of her calling me now and then over trivial things and so, in the midst of a surgery, when I was told something about Mary, I ignored it completely. Later I got to know she was in surgery due to head injury and if I had been there, as a specialist in head trauma, maybe I could have saved her…..”

 

As always, tears followed his confession and once again he found himself weeping silently in Sherlock’s presence. Again, just like the previous time, Sherlock held him patiently, silently, lovingly. He gave him enough and more time to calm down and John leveraged that support, holding Sherlock like a life-saving raft in the midst of rough seas, and let his tears flow as long as he had angst left in himself.

 

When it eventually stopped, he felt a sense of being reborn. It was catharsis for him. It gave him a sense of wellbeing that had been missing from his life for almost two years. The pain had been washed away through the tears.

 

The overwhelming exhaustion of this hugely emotionally draining activity left him devoid of any energy to stay awake. “S’rry, need t’….sleep n’w,” he mumbled, eyes falling shut as he spoke, darkness closing in on him from all sides. He felt as if he was floating in an inky black sea, the waves gentle and sloshing him around like a baby rocked in a cradle. Still, Sherlock’s warmth, embrace and the sounds of his heartbeat kept him grounded and stable and he feared nothing, neither the darkness nor the sleep that beckoned out. He heard Sherlock hum a soft tune, a soothing and lulling one, his voice having gone from baritone to gravelly, the gravel sloshing around as he sang evenly and in a low hum.

 

He didn’t fall asleep. He simply lost himself in the mystical, inviting, land of nod.

 

***

 

John was teaching Sherlock how to make a nice, simple omelet when two men suddenly entered the open plan kitchen. Sherlock tensed up and reached for the frying pan, as if ready to hit the intruders with it, while the shorter man of the two entrants squealed “Oh look Sebby, so many kinds of knives!!!”

 

“John, get the knives away, put them out of his reach,” Sebastian Moran said, holding the other man back.

 

Sherlock let go of the frying pan and turned down the flame, relaxing slightly when he realized they were not intruders and assailants but friends of John. “Well, hello there, welcome to my home and my…..kitchen?” John said cheerfully as he followed Sebastian’s advice and locked the knives in a drawer, “My dear friend Colonel Moran and I am assuming this is James Moriarty, the love of your life eh?”

 

“I want to see those knives,” James pointed at the drawer.

 

“No, no knives for you,” Sebastian said, “Sit at the kitchen table, I’ll make pancakes for all of you.” He produced a bag of pancakes and a few bottles that contained all the ingredients for a super-quirky and tasty sauce.

 

“Here, let me make it,” John offered.

 

“No, I am better at pancakes than you are,” Sebastian was adamant, “This sauce is my granny’s recipe so I have to do this myself. Relax, brew some more tea and while the tea is brewing why don’t you introduce us to your handsome companion, eh?”

 

Realizing his mistake, John quickly stepped away from the stove and took Sherlock’s hand. “Sebastian and James, please meet my friend Sherlock,” he said proudly, “And Sherlock, meet my friends Sebastian and James. Colonel Sebastian Moran and I had once been in the army together. He was senior to me and a legend in his own right, the best sniper we ever had. Now of course he is a civilian like all of us, a successful professional who’s working as a consulting partner to several firms.”

 

Sebastian greeted Sherlock cheerfully and was greeted warmly by Sherlock in return. But Seb’s boyfriend James, who insisted that he be called Jim, simply gave Sherlock a sarcastic look and kept inching towards the drawer where the knives had just been locked up. Sherlock almost took that as a challenge and stood before the drawer, blocking his path, leading to a standoff that immediately made alarm bells ring in John’s head. Sebastian also stood up from his chair, dropping everything he was unpacking for the sauce, and looked at the two men with a concerned look.

 

“Move from there or I will cut you, bitch,” Jim snapped.

 

Sherlock didn’t even flinch, “No. I am not letting you make designs on your hand with a knife again, you crazy little wanker.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always end up making Jim a crazy little wanker. I know :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'You have already paid me for this week'
> 
> Sherlock gets a taste of John's generosity

Sebastian and John looked at their men, stunned into speechlessness, then gave each other a bewildered look. “You guys know each other?” John asked, astounded by what he had just seen and heard.

 

“Kitten,” Sebastian went and stood next to Jim, strategically positioning himself between the smaller man and Sherlock, “Have you two met before?”

 

Sherlock turned away and went to pour himself some more tea, leaving the explanation to the Irish youngster who, by John’s estimate, was the same age as him. “I was a runaway from my home in Dublin used to the thug life and he was a shrewd orphan who could con his way into anything,” Jim said without an ounce of embarrassment or hesitation, “Of course we know each other. We have been through thick and thin together at some point before I made it big and moved away. We didn’t keep in touch but that was primarily because Sherly was too girly to be in the company of real men. Am I right or am I right Sherlylocks?”

 

“Don’t go by his suited, booted, groomed look,” Sherlock said as he sipped his tea, “He is a killing machine.”

 

“Was,” Jim corrected him.

 

“We dated,” Sherlock added.

 

“Wha……” Sebastian hiccupped.

 

John found it amusing. “You two dated before?” He asked, keeping his voice devoid of any drama or sarcasm, “Now that explains the animosities we just saw. But think about it, things have changed now and you’re both older, you are men now and not boys. Plus, you are in _my house_ and as a host I have a request. Can you please be as civil to each other as Sebastian and I usually are?”

 

Sherlock instantly said, “Okay.”

 

Jim simply shrugged and picked up a screwdriver. Sebastian immediately took it away from him and said, “Why don’t you both go to the living room and catch up? I think John and I can take care of breakfast.”

 

John craned his neck as much as possible to keep watching the two lads as they exited the kitchen and went towards the sitting room. “Do you think they’ll be fine?” He asked Sebastian, “Your Jim is a firecracker. But I had no idea he was also Sherlock’s ex.”

 

“Puppy love I presume,” Sebastian said, “It wouldn’t have even gone beyond a bit of kissing or groping. By the way, Jim is a whizkid. He is also my employer. Hey, don’t look so shocked, his talent is immense, and he made his first million at the age of twenty by selling a website that had one of the most unique business concepts of all time. This is what he does, he creates websites and products that are quite revolutionary and then sells them off to the highest bidder. Several popular games, analytical tools and social media strategies have emerged from his fertile mind.”

 

“But yeah, he does have issues. He has bipolar, he has a tendency to do self-harm, hence my concern about him getting too close to the knives or anything sharp. His sometimes-destructive instincts have to be controlled with some meds and therapy but it’s getting better by the day.” He paused and sighed, obviously taking a break from the praises and balancing it out with the downsides.

 

“Wow,” John said with a broad smile as he handed Sebastian the heavy-bottomed vessel for making pancakes, “My friend is in the company of a genius! As for issues, who doesn’t have them, including you and me? I am very happy for you Seb. But believe me, I am not comparing him to your Jim but Sherlock is his own brand of genius too. He has six or seven irrigated brains and he has the potential to be a big man someday, someone who’d turn the world upside down with his brilliance. The kind of things he can say about someone by simply observing them for a few seconds, it’s kind of phenomenal.”

 

“He has to be a genius if he’s made such a huge turnaround in mere three or four days,” Sebastian lowered his voice, “You called me just the other day and I remember how depressed and restless you sounded. And look at you now, almost like a brand-new John Watson.”

 

“I owe it to you.” The words just slipped out.

 

Sebastian narrowed his eyes, “I asked you to hire a hooker and bang their brains out.”

 

“I….ehm…I was…..”

 

“John, you’re not telling me Sherlock is a……you know? He doesn’t seem to be. Believe me, before I met Jim I hired quite a few, both genders, once even a trans man. I should know.”

 

“He’s not. This is his first time.”

 

“I hope you’re not treating him like one either. Okay, forget it, bad question. You’re a gentleman and would never do that even to a proper hooker.”

 

John shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, “Tell me something, you’re never going to tell him what I inadvertently told you, would you?”

 

“No way,” Sebastian said, “Jim will have my hide if I call his friend a hooker. Actually it’s my advice to you that you don’t say anything to him, me or anyone else about Sherlock. Other people don’t need to know. People make a mountain out of a molehill at times and preachers of moral lessons annoy the shit out of me. When we were down and out, tell me who the hell came up to lift ourselves out of the doldrums? The answer is, nobody did. We had to rescue ourselves. So, when things are looking up, I don’t think we owe anyone any answers.”

 

“I totally agree…..”

 

Whatever John was about to say next got interrupted by the sounds of Sherlock and Jim arguing loudly in the living room and the sounds of thumping and bumping as if they were pushing each other around. Sebastian turned off the flame and leapt out of the kitchen, John close on his heels, and they found the two ‘overgrown babies’ fighting over a huge fluffy orange-yellow teddy bear. Sherlock had one hand on Jim’s chest, held one of the bear’s paws with the other and was growling. Jim was snarling back at him, one hand on Sherlock’s face and the other one clutching at the bear’s ear. “Wait-wait,” John called out, running towards them, “That belongs to my sister Harry. Careful now, stop pulling it like that, oh for Heaven’s sake grow up the two of you!!!”

 

The fight ended with Sherlock holding one arm of the bear and Jim ending up sprawled on the carpet with the rest of it.

 

“Sorry,” Sebastian mumbled, “I’ll buy a similar bear for your sister.”

 

“Nah,” John smiled despite the mild irritation he felt, “I guess she is too old for plush toys anyways. It’s fine.”

 

***

 

“Did you have many toys as a child?”

 

John was spooning Sherlock, half asleep after a rather vigorous and satisfying round of sex, when the sudden question came.

 

“I didn’t have many but I always had enough,” he replied, kissing the spot on Sherlock’s back that was closest to his mouth, “Some my parents bought for me, rest gifted by grandparents and relatives on Christmas and birthdays. Cricket gear, fire engine, train set, lacrosse stick, hockey stick, puzzles, action man and he-man figures, guns and of course the ‘doctor’ kit. I also had a nice toy camera which I was very fond of. It was a toss-up between photographer or doctor for me and eventually the doctor won.”

 

“Hmmmm.”

 

“How about you?”

 

As soon as he had asked the question, John felt like an idiot. How did he even ask such a silly question! “Sorry,” he whispered, “I didn’t mean to…..”

 

“I had a teddy bear,” Sherlock said, seemingly unaffected by the insensitive question, “I found it lying in a park during one of our outings from the orphanage. Aside from that I had a football, a dinky car and a magnifying glass, all of them gifted by a sponsor who used to buy toys for us during Christmas holidays and send them in pretty packages, along with a small box of chocolates for each child. No, it wasn’t during Christmas month, he would give us gifts and chocolates on January 6th.”

 

“Must have been a special day for him,” John said, “Whoever he was.”

 

“He first came to our orphanage when we were like…..ten years old,” Sherlock tried to remember, “Yes, that was when we, I mean Victor and I, were ten years old. A fine gentleman who had a very seventeenth century name, I think it was Reginald or something, and he always ensured that all two hundred of us had chocolates and at least one gift. He would also give money to run the place and ensure all of us had decent meals but that money mostly went into some pockets and decent meals never saw the light of the day. Once his wife came and when she met us she started to cry. Felt unwell I guess, so they bundled her into the car and took her back home.”

 

“Maybe childless couple.”

 

“Could be.”

 

“How did the fight over the teddy erupt?”

 

“He went into that room which you’ve cleaned out and prepared for Harry, then dug it out of the closet. You told me not to snoop, otherwise I would have found it sooner and it wouldn’t have had a fractured arm.”

 

“If I knew you like teddies, I would have given it to you.”

 

“You gave it to Jim. He took it. He’s had the arm stitched back and sent me a pic on WhatsApp, with the caption ‘Loser Sherly’.”

 

A sudden visual of Jim and Sherlock as boys, in short pants, fighting and bickering and chasing each other like puppies flashed before his eyes and John began to laugh. Sherlock turned his head and looked over his shoulder, appearing very vexed indeed. “Hey, you are supposed to be on my side,” he snapped, frowning at the older man, “Not laugh at me when my ex-friend pokes fun at me.”

 

“Ex-friend or ex?”

 

Sherlock froze, “Does that bother you?”

 

“No, but it does bother me that he took something from you that you liked. Sherlock, I wanted to take you out shopping tomorrow. We can buy whatever you want, consider it an advance birthday, Christmas and New Year’s gift from me. We can go to any place you want, whether its Oxford Street or Harrods or any other market.”

 

“But,” Sherlock turned and snuggled adorably into John’s arms, “You have already paid me for this week.”

 

“This isn’t payment and can we please stop talking about payments and using the word ‘pay’ for everything,” John admonished Sherlock mildly and kissed his forehead to take the sting off from his words, “I am talking about a gift for you and that has nothing to do with whatever we agreed upon for this week. What do you want to buy? Suits, clothes, shoes, expensive colognes and toiletry sets, sunglasses, watches, cufflinks, tie pins, any other accessories, books, gadgets and devices? As I said, whatever you want you can have. Don’t even think about limiting yourself to a budget.”

 

“The trip to Paris,” Sherlock said, looking rather puzzled, “I thought that was a gift.”

 

“It is. But to myself. I wanted to go there.”

 

“You must have been there before.”

 

“Yeah, but always for work. This time, a pure vacation with suitable company.”

 

“Jawn, I might not be loaded like you are or your dear friend ‘Mycroft’,” Sherlock’s face twisted with irritation at the mention of Mycroft’s name, “But I am not exactly in starvation mode or without proper clothes on my back. I don’t want to sponge off your generosity even if you are willing to put a blank cheque in my hands. I don’t need any gifts.”

 

“That’s decided then,” John snorted, “We are going tomorrow.”

 

“Huh…..but?”

 

“You are at my beck and call?”

 

“Yes, but…..”

 

“Then I don’t need to ask you.”

 

Sherlock was going to argue some more when a WhatsApp message arrived on his phone. It was, in fact, a photograph from Jim Moriarty. Harry’s dusty old orange-and-yellow life size bear now had a new green scarf, a new stripey-vest, it was clean and fresh as a daisy and its arm had been immaculately stitched back. It was now fully restored to an almost new-like state. Jim was sitting on its lap with a shit-licking grin on his face, seemingly satisfied with his handiwork. Next to him a glum faced Sebastian lay on the bed, clutching a pillow in his arms and looking at his cell-phone screen. “Looks like someone got replaced by a plushie in Jim’s affections,” John roared with laughter, “Okay, so you were saying?”

 

Sherlock had bared his teeth and looked menacing. “Fine, I accept your shopping offer,” he said with a huff, “I want a new and even bigger teddy bear.”

 

***

 

After a daylong shopping trip that involved stops at Knightsbridge Harrods, Bond Street, Oxford Street, Regent Street and Saville Row, an exhausted John and Sherlock returned home with a truckload of shopping bags and hungry as wolves. John had realized that his near-ascetic, workaholic and lonely lifestyle had caused his wages to build up in his bank accounts and the sums he had in each of his four accounts was quite phenomenal. For the first time he pulled out a large sum of money, used his cards and indulged both himself and Sherlock in some high-end retail therapy.

 

“You blew up all your money,” Sherlock complained, “You have spent almost twenty thousand pounds Jawn.”

 

“That is not even one tenth of what I have lying in checking accounts,” John said in a tone that suggested mere facts, no boasting, “So far my mum or my late wife used to shop for clothes for me and truth be told, I ended up mostly looking ten years older than my actual age or like a dentist. If I am working my butt off, then I better get something in return. A nice wardrobe, a better haircut, newer and trendier accessories perhaps. Don’t worry about funds, there’s plenty where it comes from and I am not even talking about my earnings yet. My mum left me a cottage and a flat and my dad left me nearly a million pounds so even if I stop working tomorrow I can have a decent annuity.”

 

“You called sick at work today,” Sherlock said, helping John with some packets as the latter unlocked the door, “You’re spending a boatload of money, whether you have a lot of that or not is a different matter altogether, and you’ve booked a trip to Paris. I am wondering if I am the reason you are acting out of character. Just so you know, I am perfectly happy being at home with you and eating the food you cook. You’re a great cook.”

 

“Sherlock,” John looked at him with a serious expression, “After a long time I am living the life I love. It feels good. So, if anything, you have helped me look at life ‘normally’. Don’t blame yourself, rather, give yourself a pat on the back.”

 

Sherlock took John’s hand and patted his own back with it.

 

John grinned, “That’s it.”

 

The doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” Sherlock dropped the dozen or more shopping bags on the nearest couch and ran to answer the door. John smiled and walked into the bedroom. He heard Sherlock speaking to someone, then a gasping squeal which sounded more like a sound made by a child and less that from a grown man, and grinned. He counted on his fingers and, true to his expectations, the front door closed and galloping footsteps approached the bedroom.

 

Moments later, Sherlock entered through the door with a seven feet fawn colored teddy bear with a cap and scarf on it.

 

“Now here is what I want you to do, listen to me carefully and follow step by step” John said as he gave Sherlock a wink and a finger-point at his cell-phone, “Take a nice pic of yourself with ur new friend here, Mr. Binks, then put some green hearts around it and then send the snap to a certain Mr. James Isaac Moriarty on WhatsApp. I know this seems childish but then he started the game, so I am sure it’s okay for you to finish it. Ask him to take a selfie of his ‘reaction’ and send it back to you, as a ‘dare’. Oh yeah, you can thank me later for Mr. Binks and also for this evil idea.”

 

In a flash he had an armful of Sherlock.

 

“Jawn…..you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he said, his voice a little over a croak.

 

“And you, for me,” John replied, feeling tugs at his heart that he had never ever felt before in this life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John is in love. Now it's Sherlock's turn to prove himself worthy of it.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock cried out loud enough to wake the dead.

“HOLY MOSES!!!”

 

John had fallen asleep on the couch. The shopping trip had lasted ten hours and he had been dead tired on his feet already. After that he had cooked for them and post-dinner, with his belly full, he had literally passed out on the couch while watching television. He didn’t even remember what he had been doing before that.

 

And now he was awake, wide awake, his entire body on fire. At first he thought it was a dream but the picture refused to change despite several blinks. Sherlock’s dark head was bobbing up and down between his legs (when the hell did his trousers get pushed down to his ankles, he couldn’t remember) and his groin was tingling with sensations that went straight to his brain and fried it completely. “Jesus,” he screeched when that wicked tongue cleverly applied pressure on the sensitive head before continuing the slippery suction on the shaft, “Ohhh….oh Sherlock…..Sherl…..ohmyGod!!!”

 

“Mmmm-nnnnggg-hnnnnnn,” Sherlock went, moaning around his mouthful, the hum causing John’s entire body to tingle.

 

John’s legs curled up and his toes curled some more. God, he was going to explode in that wicked mouth any moment now. How long had Sherlock been doing this before he had woken up from sheer pleasure? His hips jerked up automatically and he tried to grab at something, anything, just to keep himself from pushing that dark head down further on to his dick. He hit a bottle of water on the coffee table and heard it fall with a thud on the floor. A few cushions fell off too.

 

“O God you sexy little thing,” he heard himself speak in his ‘sex-voice’, startling himself some more at how ‘different’ he sounded, “What the fuck are you doing to me? Ohhhh yes, yes, just like that, a bit more, yes-there, yesss, go on pleasepleaseplease, don’t slow down, oh yeaah!”

 

Sherlock used a strange breathing technique and John felt him take his impressive length in deeper, as if he had a bottomless throat, and began to breathe through his mouth. The feeling of saliva, air and tongue and lips, it was the most exquisite sensation John had ever experienced and he could no longer hold himself back. Eyes on Sherlock’s dark curls, back arching off the couch and hips now moving like a piston, he let himself hurtle towards a gigantic orgasm.

 

He came like a tornado, his orgasm so powerful that even before it happened, he felt himself carried away and swept into its path, from his sensory perceptions to his heart, mind, soul and body. He shuddered hard and spread his legs wider, grabbing Sherlock’s curls with both hands.

 

“Yeah-Yeah-Yeah, just a bit more, just like this!!!”

 

His eyes went the widest possible and suddenly he was cumming, thick spurts shooting out of his erection that throbbed and jerked on Sherlock’s tongue. He tried to push the young man off but Sherlock stayed put, giving John the satisfaction of watching him swallow his essence easily.

 

“Ohhhhh,” John moaned and fell back on the couch, exhausted but in a good way.

 

“Hmmmm-mmmmm,” Sherlock hummed happily and licked him clean. He kept licking and lightly sucking the older man as he came down from his high. Only when John began to display signs of getting over-sensitized did he stop and release the still hard member from his mouth. He rested his chin on John’s bush and looked up, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his shapely lips that were now stained in one corner with semen. His eyes had a glint in them and his cheeks were flushed pink. John again felt those tugs and pulls at his heart and suddenly a desire to give something back to this lad came over him.

 

“What?” Sherlock asked as John got up.

 

“Getting the lube,” John explained, “You haven’t cum yet.”

 

“Why get the lube? I can ride you here.”

 

“Of course you can ride me here but I need to prepare you hon.”

 

“No need. I prepared myself while you were out.”

 

John grabbed the base of his cock as a surge of arousal coursed through him. He imagined a breathtaking visual of Sherlock preparing himself with three fingers, moaning softly as he brushed his sweet spot, tendrils of hair falling all over his face, eyes fluttering open and shut, sitting on his haunches as he tried to ease the path for John to take him. His cock was up and ready within seconds simply from the visual playing out in his imagination.

 

He gave his cock a few tugs and said, “Okay then, hop on.”

 

When Sherlock tried to do that, John shook his head. “Nope, not like this,” he kissed the tip of Sherlock’s cock, making him shudder, “Reverse cowboy!”

 

“Ungungung,” Sherlock groaned as he turned around, “Keep talking like this and I’ll cum all over you before you’re even inside.”

 

“Then I’ll fuck you and make you cum again!”

 

“Jawwwwn!”

 

“Oh fuckkkk Sherl, so tight!!!”

 

John felt like the king of the world as the beautiful creature atop him sank down on his cock, his perfect bubble butt cheeks parting as John watched his erection disappear inch by inch into that tight, snug, hot and velvety vault.

 

He thrust up a few times and immediately felt Sherlock’s hole clench.

 

Seeing the curly haired beauty try to hold it all back, John slapped his butt. “Just remember…..” he said breathlessly, allowing his body to take over for a change and letting it push his mind aside with force, “…..You’re going to cum as many times you can. No need to stop after once, okay? Just let go and let me decide….uh……yeah, that’s it baby!” He saw Sherlock nod, his slender body moving up and down and his cock appearing and disappearing as the younger man rocked on it, moving up until only the head dipped in and slamming back down till his butt slapped against John’s pubes and thighs.

 

He thrust a few times, shallow and angled, until he found the sweet spot. Then he drove into him, hard.

 

Warmth splattered on to his legs instantly and Sherlock cried out loud enough to wake the dead.

 

***

 

“Mike?”

 

“Greg, I am due for a hearing in thirty minutes. If it’s about buying mum a new car then go ahead and buy it. You have my account details and I will never question your choice of car or the amount you spend. But I can’t discuss this with you right now.”

 

“God damn it, you are the champion of assumptions, you know that?” Greg Lestrade was annoyed and he let it show in his tone and choice of words, “For the records, I am a DI for the Scotland Yard and I am not in the habit of calling you in the middle of the day, boyfriend or not, and discussing the purchase of a new Audi A6 for my intended mother-in-law. I called you because we found the bastard who was pulling the strings on people like Jacques and it seems he was the one who had once abducted a little boy from Trafalgar Square.”

 

“Greg…..”

 

“Yeah. Can’t you send a junior counsel for the hearing? Is it terribly important?”

 

“Yes, I can…..”

 

“Listen, you will soon be selected as the Queen’s counsel. I am sure they can forgive you a miss or two. Come on over as soon as you can.”

 

“I-I will be there. You sure about this?”

 

“I wouldn’t be calling you if I was not.

 

In less than thirty minutes Mycroft was at the Yard office and Greg was right downstairs at the visitor’s parking lot, waiting for him. The moment Mycroft stepped out of his Rolls Royce Phantom, Greg walked up to him and the two men shared a customary one-shoulder hug. “We put him in the interrogation cell last night and I assigned two of my best people on it,” Greg said as they walked into the building and crossed the access-controlled doors beyond which nobody could go unescorted, “Took nearly eighteen hours to break him but eventually he started talking. One revelation led to another and he was shooting one startling fact after the other, straight out of his bowels. All real shit he has been up to.”

 

“Wait, before we get too ahead of ourselves, is he really stating facts or just half-truths?” Mycroft, always the skeptic, asked in his usual unaffected, posh tone.

 

“We were testing every statement he made, the bigger ones at least, for their veracity and truth. Nine such facts so far, only one false, seven are proven already and one is under investigation. This is the tenth one he spewed out about an hour ago before we had to pause for some time, since he had a mini-fit due to dropped sugar levels and his drug-related condition.”

 

“Is he ready to talk again?”

 

“Yes. He certainly is.”

 

“I want to see him.”

 

“You will. But I need to be present throughout and so will be Phil Andersen, one of the interrogators. I am doing this entirely on my own authority Mike, so don’t go overboard with the questioning. As you know very well, we can’t let lawyers meet criminals like him unless they are part of a designated public prosecution office or simply the arrested person’s very own lawyer of choice.”

 

“I’ll remember,” Mycroft said tersely.

 

***

 

Naked, sweaty, sticky and exhausted once Sebastian pulled out of him, Jim gave his lover his best ‘post-coital’ slutty look and pointed at the cigarettes. Sebastian rolled his eyes and kissed the top of his head, mumbling “ don’t like you smoking….yet why do I give in every single time.”

 

“Because you know I have all the power over you,” Jim chirped merrily, accepting the cigarette Sebastian lit for him and placed between his lips, “What was today’s performance about?”

 

“I would have ravished you yesterday morning, or last night,” Sebastian lay down next to Jim and placed an ash tray on his washboard abs, giving Jim easy access to it in case he needed to tip off the ash, “But you were super busy all day yesterday and remained at work till late evening, then we attended that cocktail party and on our way back you crashed in the car. I barely slept after dawn knowing I was counting the hours till you woke up and I stuck my stick in your hot boy pussy.”

 

“Thanks for the rundown of how much you lusted after me,” Jim suggestively parted his legs and watched Sebastian’s cock jerk, “But I am asking a different question here Bastian. I asked you ‘why’?”

 

Sebastian looked a bit coy, a little wary and finally a wee bit uncomfortable. He felt Jim’s steady gaze on the side of his face and, just like all times before, succumbed to the intensity of that stare. If Jim wanted him to spill the beans, he had to spill the beans. There was no way out of that moment. “Okay, fine, I admit,” he sighed out dramatically, “I was jealous after hearing you had once dated that Sherlock fella. I was literally seeing the two of you together, naked and moving and he taking your virginity. Sort of fired me up at all the right places and I couldn’t wait to claim you back as my baby, my lover, my man. So, yeah, I said it now. I suppose you’ll have an insult ready to throw?”

 

To his surprise the normally sadistic Jim, who often couldn’t show Sebastian his tender, loving side or appreciate him properly unless he had insulted or intimidated him at first, stubbed out the half-smoked cigarette, tossed away the ash tray and wrapped himself around him.

 

“The intention was just that.”

 

“What?”

 

“Don’t be dull. You know ‘what’.”

 

“I-I am…..yeah I do understand….but it’s so unexpected that…..kay, so you knew I would be jealous and you’d get some of the best action between the sheets and mind-bending sex?” He felt a nod against his chest and a nice, warm and fuzzy feeling came over him. Nuzzling the soft dark hairs of his lover, he asked, “I know I could get stabbed for this but can you please confirm or deny three facts for me?”

 

“Go on. I will do this but only because you stuck your cock so deep in me it poked my kidneys.”

 

“Did you love him?”

 

“We liked each other. To be precise, we liked each other’s brainy side. Deep respect there. Plus he was quirky, like me, he was also a risk-taker, just like me. We found common ground but it soon became boring, for me at least.”

 

“Did you have sex?”

 

“Kissing-groping-frottage.”

 

“I guess then the next question is not even warranted Jimmy,” Sebastian couldn’t stop the goofy, almost comical grin from spreading all over his handsome face, “I was about to ask if you’d cheat on me with him.” He rolled them over and climbed on top of the smaller man whose eyes were glittering like jewels, “When John told me they’re living together I was wondering if the past you share with Sherlock will affect my friendship with John or not. I won’t lie, had Sherlock been a threat I would have found a way to get rid of him. But then John kinda likes him, so that would have been a big blow to the poor man. He has had shit luck in love before this.”

 

Jim snorted. “I have no sympathy for cowards, sentimental fools or confused homosexuals who keep saying ‘oh but I am bi, I am sure someday I can still stick it into a woman if I turn out the lights first’ until they find out the female genitalia does nothing for them at all.”

 

“Jiiiimmmyyyy!”

 

“Kay’fine, he’s your friend so I will just call him loser instead.”

 

“God, you are incorrigible.”

 

“You know, Sherlock is the one with shit luck. I swear he’s from a wealthy household, educated and posh, the sort of family where he could have lived like a prince and had the best of everything. But a bastard took him when he was young and his life changed for the worse when he was just beyond a toddler.”

 

“How would you know? You’re the same age as he is, surely you can’t remember……”

 

Jim made a face, “Sebby, don’t be obtuse. I figured out from different things. The clothes he was wearing when he was taken, they were still there at the orphanage and his friend Victor grabbed them when they ran away. I saw them. Even though two decades have passed, you can see just how expensive they once were, the fabric, the cut, the style, marvelous. I overheard that abductor say that Sherlock was wearing a diamond pendant around his neck which was easily worth twenty or thirty grand in those days.”

 

“How luck changes in a flash,” Sebastian sighed, “But if he’s with John, things will improve for him. John has money, culture, social standing and he clearly adores Sherlock.”

 

“If he has the guts to accept Sherlock for what he is Sebby,” Jim said and got out of bed, “If he has the guts.”

 

Jim stared at his boyfriend’s bare butt, “Why are you getting out of bed now? Come back here and cuddle some more.”

 

“You’ll have to wait till your tank is reloaded,” Jim said with a shrug, parading naked around the room and making Sebastian’s libidinous urges rise.

 

Seb reached down and touched himself, but he had cum so many times that his cock gave an unpleasant tingle and Sebastian groaned and rolled over to lie on his front. Pushing his blond hairs out of his face (he wore them long nowadays just because Jim liked him that way) he tried to distract himself by talking about someone completely ‘non-sexy’. “You know Jimmy,” he called out to the younger man who had padded into the bathroom by then, “Your lawyer, that cucumber-face, he called me the other day and sort of mildly complained. Said that you’ve not answered his latest calls nor have you returned them. That’s why he called me to check if all’s well and if you’re in town.”

 

“There are no cases or consultation needs at this moment,” Jim called out, evidently brushing his teeth as he did so.

 

“I think he wanted to invite us for his engagement. Cucumber face with cute face.”

 

“They have names,” Jim laughed, “Mycroft Holmes and Greg Lestrade. But cucumber and cute would do! Let’s buy them something nice as a gift and accept the invite.”

 

“John’s invited too.”

 

“So?”

 

“That means Sherlock…..”

 

“Fantastic. That means once we return from the engagement party, our sex will be hot as fuck!”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John takes Sherlock to Paris

John noticed how Sherlock, despite having never traveled to Paris or stayed in luxury, adapted quickly and elegantly to everything. Aside from momentary wide-eyed wonder-filled looks, he didn’t give away the fact that he was traveling in business class for the first time, riding a limo from the airport for the first time or staying in a luxury boutique hotel for the first time. He learned quickly, observed keenly and molded himself amazingly to come across as a sophisticated and debonair young man who’d seen enough and more comforts and luxuries in his life.

 

“The tower,” Sherlock exclaimed, letting down his guard only after John had tipped the porter and shut the door of their ‘superior-executive’ room, “You can see it from both the windows. I bet at night it will look very pretty.”

 

John trotted over to the window where Sherlock was standing and hugged him from behind, kissing the back of his neck. Sherlock let out a soft, purring sound, stretching his neck backwards and relaxing in John’s arms like a true sexy feline. John licked a hot strip up his long neck and the younger man shivered. “Mmmm,” the doctor sniffed at his cologne while Sherlock breathed heavily, indicating the beginnings of arousal, “Never thought Lacoste T shirts or Paco Rabanne Eau de toilettes could be such a lethal combination. Orrrr…..is it the Sherlock factor that makes all the difference?”

 

“You tell me.”

 

“I say it’s all about you.”

 

“Jawn…..”

 

“Baby I…..”

 

Before either of them could say a thing, Sherlock’s stomach growled loudly and the two men burst out laughing. “I told you to eat something on the flight but you were primarily focused on making the bald dude next to us feel like a piece of shit. Which you succeeded in doing, by the way,” John laughed as he patted Sherlock’s flat stomach.

 

“He was trying to tell me things about Cambodia, India and Fiji that are totally wrong,” Sherlock snorted, “I may have never travelled there and he might have holidayed or worked in those places, but my information was right and his first-hand experience was wrong. He was saying the Taj is in Delhi, the bag of shit, it is in Agra, A-G-R-A, which is NOT Delhi. Then he was talking about Angkor Vat……”

 

“I witnessed that, my boy won,” John stopped him with a grin, “Yes, he was a loser. But why are we talking about him now?”

 

“Yeah, we should instead…..fuck?”

 

“Seems a tiger had a taste of blood and can’t stop himself anymore, huh?”

 

Sherlock whined and grabbed John’s hand, trying to get him to palm him over his jeans so he could feel the hardness trapped underneath but John snatched back his hand and stepped back a few paces. The younger man turned and pouted, looking half-offended and half-needy. As if on cue, his stomach growled again, this time with more vengeance, and John snickered. “No way Jose, we are not making love before we both load up on proteins. Lunch first, then we can have all the fun you want between the sheets. Come on, let’s go to a nice café close by and try some French food.”

 

“Noooo!!!”

 

“Yes.”

 

“NO!”

 

“I said YES.”

 

“Yes to what?” Sherlock waggled his brows.

 

John kissed his lower lip and grabbed his hand, “Lunch! Now stop being a brat and come along, we will eat first.”

 

***

 

“Here you go.”

 

“Thanks Greg.”

 

Mycroft looked at the man in his early fifties. Yes, he was at breaking point and his abilities to lie convincingly and manipulate others were at all all-time low. Clad in a suit that had once been shiny and elegant but was now crushed, stained with various things and a sleeve half-torn, he sat slumped on a chair with his thinning salt and pepper hair dry and frizzy and standing on ends. In the eerie blue lights of the stone cold and silent interrogation cell, the only three pieces of furniture was the narrow stool on which the haggard-looking man sat, the bare table and a more comfortable high-backed chair occupied by the interrogating officer Phillip Mason Andersen.

 

As soon as Mycroft stepped towards the table, Andersen got up and offered the barrister his chair. Mycroft took it and looked at the glass window behind him. Mirror-glass, reflective surface from the inside and see-through from the other side. He knew Greg was watching, along with three more officers. Taking a deep breath Mycroft began with a simple question.

 

“Name?”

 

“Archer McKinney.”

 

“Look Archer, you have three choices,” Mycroft began in a low, unwavering voice despite the storm brewing inside him, “You can continue to resist and not cooperate and these men and women know how to hurt you where it hurts the most. I am a lawyer, I know and have seen things. Many people have accidentally died here, some have been carried out and have remained confined to bed for the rest of their lives. The second choice is you lie and try to mislead us and end up on a wheelchair or irrevocably scarred in body and spirit, unable to talk or hear, unable to sleep without nightmares or stay awake without meds. The third choice, now that is my favorite choice.”

 

He paused.

 

The man looked up, his eyes were lined with dark circles, his face covered with bruises, a cut on his forehead that almost touched the corner of his right eye. His pupils were nearly dilated and he looked half-mad already. For a few seconds he looked utterly troubled, as if he was waging a war inside his head, before he cleared his throat repeatedly and asked in a sore, scratchy and hoarse voice, “What-What do you want t-to know?”

 

“The boy you took twenty years, eleven months and twenty-five days ago. Holmes, the Holmes boy, from Trafalgar Square.”

 

“I….told….them…..”

 

“Tell me more, now.”

 

The man was eerily quiet and stared blankly at Mycroft. Suddenly the silence of the room was shattered by the cool, unruffled Mycroft yelling with the full force of his lungs. “TELL ME MORE NOW OR ELSE…..”

 

The man almost fell off the stool. Even Andersen jumped.

 

“TELL ME,” Mycroft demanded, smashing his fist on the table which rattled and creaked dangerously.

 

This time the man looked more composed and prepared for the exchange of words. He winced, looked at the slits on his knuckles and said, “It can remember, it was my first crime….but my head hurts, I am thirsty, my cuts and bruises have become very sore, I have been here for almost a full day and night they won’t let me go to the bathroom or sleep and I haven’t eaten anything in twenty-four hours.”

 

Mycroft knew a tradeoff was forbidden but he hoped his partner’s seniority at the Yard and the numerous times he had worked with them would at least ease the proceedings somewhat. He threw a pleading glance over his shoulder at the glass window. He knew Greg was watching and would understand.”

 

Second later a lady office named Sarah Donovan walked in and announced, “Two glasses of water, two biscuits, one toilet-trip, some cotton and solution to disinfect wounds. That’s all we can provide for now.” She let two burly men lead Archer out of the door and whispered to Mycroft, “Sir, if he doesn’t talk after this we will have to go back to our interrogation procedure. Your conversation with the suspect will have to immediately cease and no more chances of a 1-1 chat again.”

 

Mycroft knew this was a fair process and immediately nodded his agreement. He showed Greg a thumbs-up sign and offered him a small smile (through the glass of course), thanking him silently for the support he had shown. “Thanks officer Donovan for the help. I most certainly appreciate it. I shall, however, ask for just one more favor from you and your team.” He looked at Andersen who was also listening in keenly to the conversation. “Can I meet that man in a different room? A smaller, better lit and ventilated interrogation room or even a holding cell would do, but not this kind of room or lighting. I need ten minutes, that’s all. Please, can you do this for me, after checking with Gre….I mean DI Lestrade.”

 

“Can we?” Donovan asked Andersen.

 

“Ten minutes is fine,” Andersen replied.

 

“Yeah, we shouldn’t lose the momentum we built up with him over the past twenty hours.”

 

“Definitely not.”

 

***

 

“May I have some tea with the biscuits?”

 

Mycroft shook his head, “No. I need to know some facts from you first. Enough with your demands and terms and conditions. Tell me now or I shall have no qualms in sending you back to that room.”

 

“I was a disgruntled unemployed man back in those days, with mouths to feed and dreams and ambitions of my own,” Archer began, “I had run huge debts and was running from people who I owed money to. I saw this exceptionally pretty child with seemingly no one watching over him. He wore clothes that cost more than my yearly grocery bills and had a pendant around his neck that I could easily pay off all my debts with. I tried to snatch it away from him but the little one was feisty. He refused to give up without a fight and I ended up tearing off the chain and pendant and his name tag and the brooch pinning it to his coat.”

 

“Then?” Mycroft was having a hard time controlling his emotions, “Then what? What happened to the child? What did you do to him?”

 

“He started crying, people turned to look at us and I had to pretend I was his legal guardian. I picked him up and ran away with him, thinking I’ll dump him by the roadside somewhere and flee. But he was way too pretty and a friend of mine told me to sell him off to a childless couple. He said it would fetch me more cash.”

 

Mycroft closed his eyes for a few seconds and imagined the plight of his poor sibling. God, that must have been so hard on the helpless little William. A kid of three, all alone, kidnapped, manhandled by strangers, torn away from his family and passed on like an object from one to the other, he must have been absolutely shattered by that experience. Once more his self-directed guilt rose and he wondered if he would ever forgive himself for that huge gaffe he had made back then. “So you sold him off to someone?” He asked, hope flaring in his heart that his brother would have found a family at least, “Were they from London? Do you know where they live now?”

 

“N-No.”

 

“Then what? What did you do with him? For heaven’s sake stop stuttering.”

 

“Why-Why are y-you so interested in that kid…..”

 

“None of your business. Now tell me before I grouch your eyes out.”

 

Archer looked at him curiously, showing his hardened ‘criminal’ side, “Brother or cousin?”

 

Mycroft had always waged wars with words and connections, never with his hands. But that day he lost it and smashed his fist on to the man’s cheek. Instead of groaning, Archer began to laugh. “You will never find him. He was a feisty little fella, as I said a while ago, and he nearly bit my little finger off and ran away the moment he got a chance. I couldn’t find him after that. His name was William, wasn’t it? I remember. I had that partially torn name tag and brooch with me for some time, William….then there was a gap, then something else and finally…..Holmes!”

 

Mycroft started to choke him and this time Archer made groaning noises. Soon enough, Greg and his team came and wrested Mycroft away from Archer and dragged him back to that cold dimly lit cell. Greg took his partner aside and asked, “Anything valuable?”

 

“Nah. He lost him Greg. He lost William…..”

 

Mycroft took his wallet out and looked at the photograph of his three-year-old brother. “I am so sorry Willy, I am so sorry. Be safe and happy, wherever you are. May your beautiful green eyes always shine with happiness, hope and harmony!”

 

The child in the photograph silently smiled back at him, his curly brown hairs and expressive green eyes catching a glint of the sunlight in which he stood, looking like an angel amidst a pretty garden of spring blooms.

 

***

 

Sea-green eyes darkened slightly and a gasp left those cupid-bow lips. Sherlock’s hand shook on the spoon and he nearly spilled the hot liquid on to his lap.

 

John grinned at him, looking relaxed and at ease and completely unruffled by the situation. He had gotten the reaction he had expected from his young companion and he couldn’t deny that he enjoyed it to the hilt. Sherlock’s usually cheeky, naughty, cock-sure expression transforming into one of sexual-tension related shock and his cheeks acquiring that rosy, sensuous blush. “Hmmm,” he said in a low hum, leaning slightly towards his gasping mate, “Everyone thinks we are two tourists sitting here having lunch but the truth is that I am holding your prick and about to give you a brain-numbing orgasm in minutes.”

 

“Jawwwn, noooo, what are you dooooing?”

 

“Are you a prude?”

 

“N-No, but….”

 

“Then relax, trust me on this and enjoy.”

 

“We-we’re outdoors….ohhh…..public spot….roadside…..uhnnnggg!”

 

“So?”

 

John ensured his arm was hidden sufficiently by the table, the DSLR camera, the flower vase on the table and the bottle of wine next to it and began to jerk Sherlock off methodically. Instantly the thick, hard, hot flesh between his fingers jumped and Sherlock squeaked ‘Noooo’. “Sorry but your twin says a different story,” John snickered and sped up, “It really likes what I am doing, aaah, see, here is the evidence.”

 

He smeared the leaking pre-cum all over the head of the cock. Sherlock’s eyes drifted shut and he began to push his pelvis up a bit, parted his legs and leaned back against the chair.

 

“Don’t worry honey,” John assured, “We are protected by the café wall on two sides, the signboard on the third and on the fourth side there is me. No one can really see what’s going on here. People are too busy with their meals, chats and looking at the busy street over there than what’s happening at a corner table deep into the alley way.”

 

“Uh….J-Jawn….the waiter…..”

 

“Won’t come here unless we finish the soup. Just eat it slowly and pretend we’re just enjoying the sunshine and food and ambience and visuals. Oh yes, you look so hot like this, your face is so beautifully flushed, all crimson and marble, Sherlock……you’re so sexy!”

 

Sherlock’s eyes opened wide as if those words had just sent a sharp bolt of desire through his veins. His nostrils flared as he tried to keep his sounds of arousal and pleasure under control, moaning very softly and inhaling-exhaling through his mouth to avoid drawing attention to his raspy breathing. His back tensed, his hips thrust up and his eyes scrunched tightly shut. Sensing that he was still holding back somewhat, John leaned closer again and whispered into his ear, “Let go baby, let go and cum, I got you, I am right here, cum over my hand so I can get a little taste of you like a ‘starter’.”

 

“Fcckkkk,” Sherlock gripped the edge of the table so tight his knuckles went white. He buried his face in John’s shirt, let out a breathy little sound, quaked all over and climaxed. His seed spilled out and some landed on the floor, a bit on John’s toes (he was wearing sandals) but most of it on John’s fingers.

 

John wiped him off with a tissue and licked his fingers clean, wondering if they had indeed swapped roles. Sherlock was supposed to be the sexually confident, cocky, bold one while he was the prude, the unsure and homophobic man who didn’t even trust his own sexuality.

 

Yet, just now, he had acted like nothing less than a sultry, experienced, whore-ish porn star. What was more surprising, he had enjoyed acting like one!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Paris trip is about to end and Sherlock already dreads separation from John

“What is this?” John asked as he lightly caressed Sherlock’s chest, where there was a four-leaf clover shaped scar, “Birthmark?” It was the color of watered wine, a faded crimson-purple, a pretty contrast to the young Englishman’s pale smooth complexion.

 

“Yeah,” Sherlock said sleepily, “Has been there since I remember myself. Remained the same size and shape and color, always. Does not seem to be a surgical scar nor have I been injured there, has to be a birthmark.”

 

They lay on the balcony of their hotel room, on a comfy recliner with blankets around them and the city lights glowing around them. The Iron Lady shone in her full illuminate glory, resplendent in lights and standing tall and proud against the backdrop of a starry night sky that was as beautiful as Paris in the evening. John had offered to take Sherlock around in a rented, self-driven vehicle, but the younger man had declined and requested they remain in the room and just chill. “Tomorrow we spend the whole day and evening outdoors,” he had insisted, “Tonight I just want to……”

 

“Cuddle?”

 

Sherlock had blushed and nodded. John adored this side of Sherlock, a complete opposite to his indomitable, confident self. Shy and endearing, a total home-bird who loves couch cuddles more than a wild night out. There was much in common between them and John felt great bliss as he lay there, Sherlock pressed up against him and again humming that soft tune. “I love this tune you keep humming sometimes, do you know the song?” He asked.

 

“Sadly no, I don’t even remember where I learned it from,” Sherlock confessed.

 

“You know what…..thanks a lot Sherl.”

 

“Shouldn’t I be the one to thank you?”

 

“Not exactly. Thanks to you I learned to lighten up, enjoy life, not feel ashamed of gay sex and actually look after someone else’s needs. I was so fucking self-centered, I feel almost ashamed of that now. I still feel I had wronged Mary but I have managed to reconcile and accept my losses, made peace with my mistakes. You have given me the strength and shown me how to move on.”

 

“Har-Har-Har, watch me, Sherlock the Almighty!” Sherlock giggled.

 

John caressed his back, sliding his fingers under Sherlock’s shirt and sweater to feel the warm skin there. “Do you like Paris?”

 

“Love Paris,” Sherlock murmured, eyes glittering with joy, “Correction, I love Paris with YOU.”

 

John’s heart leapt in his chest for a moment.

 

Then it sank even deeper than it ever did. A crushing sense of disappointment and disillusionment came over him when he realized this was not real. None of this was real. He was living a happy life, but only for a few days, and soon this would be over.

 

Sherlock, while an incredible young man and very lovable, was not in love with him. He was here because John had paid him. He was more like a paid companion, if not an escort, and in this case a paid traveling companion who also had awesome sex with him. They shared a great chemistry but they didn’t have any history or a future together. Once they were back from Paris, Sherlock would go back to his world and continue his education while John would have to return to his profession and have nothing but an empty flat to go home to. Correction, it wouldn’t even seem like a home anymore, just a luxury pad with many elegant pieces of furniture and state of the art décor.

 

I won’t make a fool of myself by professing my feelings for him. Why would he like me? A man who’s a decade older, who was mostly closeted and had a dysfunctional family and a terrible marriage behind him? A man who was in denial of his sexuality, a liar, someone who indirectly caused death and destruction for his wife, his mum, perhaps his marriage and even filial bonds with his sibling. No, he was toxic.

 

Sherlock was better off without him.

 

“Jawwwn?”

 

“Yes baby?”

 

“You suddenly zoned out.”

 

“Just tired, that’s all.”

 

“I wore you out that much?” Sherlock winked at him, “Or is it something else?”

 

“Yes, you did,” John said fondly. His heart was aching. _Should I ask him? But what if he laughs it off, or worse, laughs at me?_

 

Sherlock put his hand over John’s crotch and sniffed. “Hmmm,” he pretended to think and tapped his chin before steepling his fingers underneath them, “Then why is this so hard? God, John you are still so very hard! I can smell your arousal.”

 

“You getting me all hot and hard and aroused is never going to go out of fashion,” John thought about sex as a distraction as well as an end to a topic he wasn’t willing to pursue, “But we have neighbors, see, there are people on the other balconies as well. So, if you want some, let’s head back to bed?”

 

Sherlock jumped out of the recliner and scampered inside. “The best thing I heard in the last two hours,” he called out, shedding clothes all the way to the bed.

 

***

 

The next day passed on magical wings. Sherlock was up and about earlier than usual, excited about exploring the city with John. While John would have loved to have a lie-in with his lover, he indulged Sherlock and got ready by 8 am. After a nice ‘French breakfast’ at the same hotel they were staying in, the two men drove around the fashion capital of the world and possibly the most romantic city for a couple to spend time in. They took turns driving and taking photographs, both selfies as well as candid pics of each other and some nice artistic stills of the city and the life of Parisians.

 

Sherlock pointed out several things that would have easily passed under John’s radar. He could identify the social strata a pedestrian belonged to simply by watching them walk. He could determine a woman’s marital status just by looking at how she did her hair and makeup.

 

They visited the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre, took a boat ride and had lunch at Ritz, drank the best wine at a street-side bistro, shopped at the high fashion boutiques as well as picked up a few things from mini stalls that offered the latest street fashion. While Sherlock gorged on all the gorgeous city had to offer, John lavished all his attention on his handsome companion. But it was a mixed day for him. He saw several heads turn whenever Sherlock walked past them and his chest swelled with pride as well as deflated with a stabbing pain. In two more days this would all be over.

 

Why was happiness so transient?

 

In the evening they went to see a cabaret show where John got picked out and was asked to dance on the stage along with some other tourists and a few of the performers. Sherlock laughed hard at this predicament and seeing him so happy made John happy too.

 

When was the last time someone’s happiness reached out to me like an infection and infected me all over?

 

As he wondered about the change that had come over him in a matter of one week, they strolled hand in hand down the streets and headed back to their hotel. Suddenly John remembered something.

 

“Hey, come on, we have one last stop for tonight,” he said excitedly.

 

“Where?” Sherlock rubbed his eyes wearily, “I’m a bit……” he couldn’t finish as a gigantic yawn came over and cut off the rest of the sentence.

 

“Come on, trust me,” John grabbed his hand, “I won’t disappoint you. It’s an experience you wouldn’t want to miss!”

 

Later, as Sherlock did a headstand on the glass floor walkway and John snapped away photographs, the younger man’s squeals and yelps and snort-giggles filled the empty space like a heady music playing in the silence of the desert. “I can’t believe you have friends who would open up ‘closed’ spaces for you just because you healed them once,” Sherlock was over the moon, “It was so crowded when we visited this morning and now, it’s just the two of us, it’s so thrilling, look at the city around us, look at the ground below, people walking about like ants crawling on the floor!!!”

 

“Monsieur Watson,” the night guard hissed, “Hurry, if someone complains I lose my job and my wages along with it.”

“Oooops, sorry,” Sherlock quickly grabbed John’s hand and together they headed up the stairs to reach the champagne bar which was still open to accommodate the rushes and demands of the tourist season. Standing on the third level, feeling like kings of the world, they drank champagne from flutes and chomped on some strawberries, watching the city lights and the beautiful skies above. It was a clear partial-moon night and the weather was calm and cool, yet balmy in some way and very comforting. Like a great blanket it stretched over the lovely city, like one of its irresistible attractions.

 

“You were right,” Sherlock suddenly said.

 

“Right about?” John gave him a sideways look.

 

“I don’t regret coming here, even though I was dead tired on my feet.”

 

“Yeah, it’s an experience of a lifetime.”

 

“Yes. Maybe someday we can be back here?”

 

“Even if we do, the thrill and delight of the ‘first-time’ will never be repeated. Everything has an unique joy when we indulge ourselves for the first time.”

 

Sherlock gave him a strange glance. John frowned, “What happened hon?”

 

“Jawn, maybe someday I will be able to repay you for all you’ve done for me,” Sherlock said, eyes on a spot somewhere in the distance, “It’s not been a conventional client and escort thing between us and I know you don’t like me attributing our sex to ‘services’ from my side, so what I mean is that one day I’ll give you experiences of a lifetime, like this. I’ll earn, pay for tickets and food, give you the sort of a holiday you’d never forget. But I know it will take some time. So whenever it happens, will you still be game?”

 

He is already preparing to part. “Yes Sherl,” John said as he took the younger man’s hand and kissed it, “I will be happy to!”

 

***

 

That night, despite their heated kisses and amorous promises to each other on their way back from their nocturnal visit to the Eiffel Tower, both men were too tired and sleepy to have gone all the way to sexual gratification. In fact, none of them even went beyond the initial phase of kissing and touching and undressing each other just enough to feel some skin on skin. John remembered placing his mouth on Sherlock’s Adam’s apple and sucking it sensuously and Sherlock moaning and squirming and rubbing his nude body against John’s before something strange happened.

 

The lights just went out.

 

When John woke up, he was on his side and Sherlock was plastered to his back and snoring softly, still sound asleep. For some time John tried to remember what they had been up to before sleep had claimed them the night before but everything simply stopped at the point where Sherlock was naked waist down, John was nude waist up, and they were necking in bed. Yes, his mouth was on Sherlock’s neck and he remembered the younger man’s body going slack with sleep even though he moaned with pleasure. Then…..nothing. They had fallen asleep like that sometime during the night.

 

He raised his head and looked at the clock. 12 noon nearly, it said.

 

Gosh!

 

After a bit of maneuvering and careful nudges, John managed to get out of bed and head to the bathroom. As he stood there, looking at the mirror, he saw a man haunted by his past, chaffed about his present and, for once, certain about his future.

 

The week with Sherlock (and the two additional nights he had with the man, like a ‘prequel’), of which today was the last day, had taught him so much more than what he had learned all life, be it at school, army or the clinics he visited. He listed his lessons and realizations.

 

_It was okay to be gay just as it was okay to have a haircut different from the current trends._

_It was necessary to be happy about small things in life and not wait for big victories and milestones, since those big ones never happened too often and people perpetually waited for it and suffered._

_His mental wellbeing was a state of his mind and definitely not dependent on any of the external triggers._

_He had exorcised his past demons and while he still retained some regret, they were not longer debilitating to his happiness or peace._

_Helping others was a key to satisfaction. Concentrating only on his own joys would never give him the contented life he desired._

 

He went back to bed and lay there for an additional hour. Sherlock slept on, seemingly undisturbed by the rays of midday sun filtering in through the gaps in the curtains. He looked angelic in his sweet slumber, eyelashes curving downwards and lightly caressing his high cheekbones, mouth slightly parted and twilight whispers of soft breathing whistling through them. Hairs tumbling over his forehead and the dark chocolate tendrils contrasting beautifully with the creamy pallor of his skin. A light greenish-brownish stubble peppered his perfect jawline and his fingers twitched as he clutched at John’s arm in his sleep.

 

John made no big movements nor did he make any noise at all, happy to just lie there and observe Sherlock thoroughly. Like a camera he captured all he saw, frame by frame, even snapping a few pictures of the sleeping man in a stealthy manner, all for posterity. When he went back to his routine life, these would remind him of the ‘time of his life’, a short time which had given him enough fuel to probably last several years. Maybe after that, as Sherlock had stated, they could once again meet as buddies and relive these moments. Of course only if Sherlock still wanted to!

 

But why would he? Who would wish to remember less fortunate days of their youth?

 

Once Sherlock had a university degree he would get a fine job, well-paid and with good perks, and become a successful and reputed professional. Why on earth would he want to hook up with a former ‘client’, someone more than a decade older? He’d rather take on a husband, start a family, have kids, settle down and live a life where days like these would not be anything more than a distant memory.

 

Hopeful, fond memories.

 

The serenity of the moment ended when multiple knocks came on the door, followed by the trrring-trrrrring of the doorbell.

 

“Pirates,” Sherlock’s eyes snapped open and he raised his head, a hint of panic in his voice, “The sea is rough.”

 

John chuckled, “Nope, no pirates or sea, we are in bed and in our hotel room and that…..” he pointed at the door, “Is French room-service. They don’t like their customers putting a ‘do not disturb’ board outside their rooms for later than 1 am.”

 

Sherlock blushed and jumped out of bed, rushing to the bathroom while John went to answer the door. They had to shower, shave, pack their bags and all the shopping they had done, then eat a brunch and leave in two hours if they intended to make it to the airport on time.

 

***

 

“Flight delayed,” Sherlock said, “It leaves at 9 PM now. Two hours delayed.”

 

“I guess we will have to endure each other’s company a while longer,” John said.

 

Sherlock grinned broadly while John chuckled without mirth. They both acted extra cheerful that evening, trying their best not to think about or bring up the topic of ‘parting ways’ the next morning. The past nine days had been magical for them but it was time to go back to ‘their other lives’. John knew he had several patients and surgeries and consultations to be accommodate, perhaps work longer hours to make up for his time-off. From what Sherlock mentioned here and there, he would get back to school in two weeks, when the new semester started. In the days leading up to that, he had to get his admission and payments sorted, order books online, all the while as he helped Mrs. Hudson close the legal formalities related to 221B Baker Street.

 

Eventually they were inside the flight and this time Sherlock didn’t indulge in any conversations or observations of their fellow passengers. Instead he asked John more about his work, his daily routine, about his plans for the rest of the summer.

 

John responded and asked Sherlock questions about his plans, to which Sherlock stated he wouldn’t probably be back in London till Christmas.

 

John held Sherlock’s hand but kept his eyes firmly on the screen in front of him. He totally missed the look of hope from his younger companion. Without that knowledge, ill-informed about Sherlock’s state of mind, he murmured in a tactless manner.

 

“There will be a gift and a card from me beneath your Christmas tree this year. Have a good one with old Hudders and your buddy Victor.”

 

In a small voice Sherlock responded, “Yes.” He paused and added, “So I would.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry couldn't resist the playful mention of 'Pirates' :D


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Separation hits Sherlock, hard!

As their plane touched down at the Gatwick airport, John felt mixed emotions. On the one hand it seemed like he was still flying in the clouds, buoyed by the propane of memories, while at the same time he felt as if he had crash landed on his face after soaring high above the ground and experiencing joys hitherto unknown to him. A strange low came over him. He walked out of the plane and down the aerobridge and through the airport like a china doll, limp and inert and unable to see, hear or feel anything.

 

“Jawn?”

 

Sherlock’s insistent voice and repeated tugs at his arm got him back to the present. It occurred to him that his baggage had been delivered at the airport gate by the porters and assistants hired to help the business and first-class passengers and Sherlock had already given them a generous tip for their services. They were now standing at the spot where people booked taxis from. “Oh, I am sorry, I zoned out again,” he said in a sheepish voice, “I have no idea how I just lose myself….in the future, I am already thinking about my patients you see, I have to also deliver a couple of lectures at a convention for medical students……”

 

Sherlock gave him a quizzical glance.

 

“You okay John?”

 

_He pronounced ‘John’, not ‘Jawn’, like he usually does. He’s already moving on. No, I won’t embarrass myself. I am the older one, I need to be the one in control. He can’t leave thinking he was sleeping with some weakling, a coward who can’t handle himself without company._

 

“Yes, absolutely okay,” John said with too cheerful a smile.

 

Sherlock’s face fell and he turned away from John to get his bearings back. If John was cheerful then so would he be! “Can we book two taxis?” He asked quietly.

 

John’s eyes widened, “But we don’t have so much baggage. Yeah, we do have quite a few and we paid extra charges but they’d sure fit in the boot of a premium car. I’ll ask for the premium taxi services…..”

 

“No. I mean, so we can go our own ways, you to Kensington South and I’ll go back to Baker Street. If you don’t mind of course….since the one week you booked me for technically ends tomorrow morning.”

 

“You want to go back to 221B?”

 

“Um….yes.”

 

It was now John’s turn to look away, trying to shield his face from Sherlock’s view so he couldn’t see the look of absolute dread there. _This was going to happen John Watson, you get what you pay for, in fact in this case you got more than what you paid for, this is done and dusted now_. A personal-professional deal that has run its course and you must let this boy go. He has to live his life and _so do you_.

 

“What about your stuff back at the flat?” John asked, keeping his voice lighthearted and carefree, “Oh well, I suppose I can have them sent to you.”

 

Sherlock’s head snapped back at John and he almost opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something. But the words died on his lips and he nodded and mumbled ‘Sure’. John exhaled, low and hard, and went to the booth for limo services. He booked one for himself and was about to book another one for Sherlock when the younger man stepped forward and asked him to book a ‘normal’ taxi. The word ‘normal’ stuck in John’s head and he saw things through Sherlock’s eyes for the first time. While these luxuries were something he could afford time and again without breaking the bank, for Sherlock these were one-off treats. He didn’t want to indulge himself too much.

 

He recollected something Sherlock had said earlier. _Sweet treats are fine but too much and you either have a rotting tooth or acne on your face or get sick to the stomach._

 

Over-indulgence was not a good idea, for either of them.

 

He booked a regular cab for Sherlock and waited till that one came (his limo was ready within two minutes and his luggage had been promptly loaded in its boot space). To this Sherlock didn’t object. But their conversation had come to a grinding halt and none of them could pick up a topic to chat up on. Sherlock kept looking at his phone while John kept scrolling through his, while they stood side by side.

 

Finally the moment arrived, along with Sherlock’s cab.

 

“Okay then, time to say goodbye,” John was determined not to break down or even show his weaker side. But he was dying a little inside. Something was aching. Something was breaking. Something was shaking profusely.

 

“Goodbye is such a strong word with so much finality,” Sherlock said in his developing baritone. It sounded sexy and fetching but John firmly put his feelings away and smiled and nodded. “What should we say to each other then?” He asked, keeping his eyes on Sherlock’s forehead, not really catching the forlorn gaze in those green eyes.

 

“Dasvidaniya?”

 

“You mean, see you?”

 

“Or till we meet again? Since we just returned from France, maybe ‘Au revoir’ is a better expression for us?”

 

“So be it then. Au revoir and God bless, do well, shine in everything you decide to do. Take care Sherlock.”

 

They hugged but it seemed to be over way too soon. Even before John could inhale the scent of his lover or feel his warmth properly, Sherlock had pulled back and stepped back. He awkwardly ran his fingers through his curls and then looked at the taxi, with a meaningful expression that suggested ‘It’s waiting and I gotta be going’. John gave a small nod and without a further word Sherlock turned and ducked into the car. John stood there, watching the taxi start, roll off the waiting area and then meander through the traffic at the exit. He wondered if Sherlock would turn back and wave but that never happened.

 

When it pulled out of the airport area and disappeared from his view John felt as if a vital part of his life had also walked away from him. But there were small consolations to draw from this rather rare and beautiful episode of his life. _At least it ended well and felt so good while it lasted. It was supposed to be a one-night stand, a paid one-night stand. You stretched it as much as you could. Now move on John, move on._

 

“Sir.”

 

John blinked and looked into the face of the chauffeur who was throwing curious glances at him. Behind him stood the fancy limo, all ready to ferry its passenger back home.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Shall we?”

 

“Oh….yes, we should.”

 

***

 

“Mummy??!!”

 

Mrs. Eugenia Holmes stared at her son knowingly, “I thought you needed someone around.”

 

Mycroft was left slack-jawed and puzzled by his mother’s sudden appearance at his London abode. Eugenia usually never left her houses in Devonshire, Kent or Surrey. Whenever she was in either of them, she just stuck to the house or received visits from and paid visits to her friends in the neighborhood. She was a noted mathematician and had published many books and articles but after losing her young son she had done everything mostly from the privacy of her home office.

 

If she ever visited London, it was after several attempts of persuasion from her husband or her son. Therefore, her sudden appearance, was totally out of character.

 

“I hope there is something nice to eat tonight,” she said, “Now shut the fly trap Mike.”

 

With that, she stepped past him and entered his beautiful townhouse in Belgravia. The barrister squinted at his mother’s attendant and companion, Mrs. Josephine Brown, hoping she would be able to throw some light on this but the lady simply shrugged and mouthed ‘I don’t know’. His sense of duty kicking in, Mycroft quickly summoned his butler Roger to help his mummy settle down and get the best guest bedroom ready for the lady and the one next to it for her attendant. “Ask Raquel to cook something mummy likes, something with more vegetables in them than meat or seafood. And don’t put desserts on the table, she doesn’t like me eating desserts much.”

 

Roger suppressed a grin and went off to do his master’s bidding.

 

Later that evening, as mother and son sat for dinner and the first course was served, Eugenia asked Roger to leave them alone for some time. As soon as the butler had left the dining room, she asked Mycroft a rather startling question. “Did you check the orphanages in the vicinity of the spot where he went missing a second time?”

 

“Mum…..”

 

“I know.”

 

“Greg told you?”

 

“Well, let’s say he treats me more like a mummy and less like an in-law. Whereas my own son keeps things from me.”

 

“I had a good reason to keep it from you,” Mycroft said with a sigh, “It is far easier for him to play the good son than me. After all, there are no expectations from him and whatever he does he gets the kudos for. I, on the other hand, am burdened by the weight of expectations. I didn’t want to get your hopes up only to bring them dashing down to the ground a mere few days later. Mummy, please try to understand, it’s not been easy for me either. Yes, I visited all those places and whenever they told me that nobody knows anything about him, I withered a little inside.”

 

He paused and sighed again, “All except the closest orphanage from that place. It’s changed owners and caretakers since then and I couldn’t trace the people who used to run the place twenty years ago.”

 

“I didn’t come here to ask you to try harder.”

 

“Huh? You didn’t? What….then what am I missing?”

 

“I want you to stop.”

 

Mycroft dropped his spoon on the floor. Mrs. Holmes promptly picked it up, placed it on the other side of the table and handed her son a fresh spoon. “Mike, you are all I have left,” she whispered in a strangely strong voice, her tone firm and iron-clad, “I don’t want to see you suffer any more for this than you already have. I had a stillborn girl, then a boy who just vanished from our lives after we had him for only three years. You, my son, are the only Holmes heir. I can see the toll its takes on you every time we speak about William or every year when we remember him on that dreadful day when we……” She paused, “Look, I am sorry I asked if you had checked with the orphanages. I was being insensitive. It must not be easy on you to delve back into those days.”

 

“Doesn’t matter mummy,” Mycroft bowed his head, “I’ll keep trying.”

 

“No, you won’t.”

 

“But I…..”

 

“Think of the future. Look to the future. There is Greg, there’s the possibility of having kids through a surrogate. That’s the only way you can bring Willy back into our lives. A small beautiful bonny baby boy, just like him.”

 

Mycroft shook his head, “It’s not as easy as you think mummy.”

 

“He is no more with us,” she said, biting down on her lower lip, “He is dead, gone. Forever.”

 

“He is just…..missing.”

 

She sighed aloud, “You know what, I wish sometimes that we found out he was truly gone. It hurts me to the very core of my soul to even doubt his presence in this world but what are the odds of us ever seeing him again? Tell me son, what are the odds? If we got to know he is truly gone we can still move on, find conclusion, live the rest of our lives grieving rather than hoping for a miracle. A rather large miracle, if you ask me.”

 

“I lost him,” Mycroft burst out, “I was the one who lost him. I am responsible. And I can’t find peace, conclusion or whatever unless I put in my best efforts to find out what happened to him. Mummy, I can’t stop, I’ll confess, I just can’t.”

 

“Then at least concentrate on your upcoming engagement. You did the best you could. None of us blame you. We never did. You were thirteen…..”

 

“Thirteen and fucking negligent.”

 

“Language Mike.”

 

“Sorry.”

 

Mycroft had spoken the words with such self-loathing that Mrs. Holmes cringed and looked away. She knew that the day she had lost her younger son, she had partially lost her elder son as well. Two decades and nearly a year later, Mycroft had clearly still not forgiven himself and at this rate, he never would. His obsession had returned with a vengeance and she felt worried about losing what she had in a bid to find out about someone she, deep down in her heart, knew would never return. “I see that Greg did the right thing by warning me,” she said in a stern voice that left no room for negotiation, “I am not taking no for an answer. If you feel you made a mistake all these years ago then make up for it now. Don’t repeat the mistake. Don’t be negligent about your own life.”

 

Mycroft took a deep breath, “Okay what do you want me to do?”

 

“Invite some of your friends over for the engagement and buy a nice ring for your intended partner. I shall also invite some people I want to, family and friends, as will your dad. It will be an intimate get-together and I will host it at our Surrey estate. This year, on that particular day, we will celebrate an auspicious and joyous occasion for a change and not grieve and rant and cry. I am sure if William was with us he would have wanted us to do the same.”

 

“I am sure he would have filled my cup to the brim with sarcastic comments about my choice of husband, a detective inspector from Scotland Yard.”

 

Eugenia smiled, “Now that’s what I call the right spirit. Bring in some humor and objective thinking in your life Mike. That’s all I am asking for.”

 

“Sure mummy,” Mycroft said, more to appease her than out of agreement, “I will. Now let’s finish dinner.”

 

“I want the guest list tomorrow. No dancing around this topic.”

 

“You will get it. Promise.”

 

***

 

“Sherlock, you are back!!!”

 

Mrs. Hudson’s near-ecstatic greeting was met with a subdued and forced greeting from Sherlock. He carried his bags inside and gave her a quick little hug. “Hello Hudders, good to see you again.”

 

She gave him a hawk-eyed look, studying his expression, body language and every move. On the outside all seemed well but she had known him since he was fourteen. She knew him well enough to deep-dive into his soul and find out the turbulence there and boy did she smell the angst and wistfulness hidden there. Just as she had feared! Sherlock had fallen in love. Had it been only about money and the high-flying life he would have seemed disappointed or a bit dampened in spirit but not this sad and lifeless.

 

“Dinner?”

 

Sherlock stopped half way up the stairwell, arms and shoulders loaded with bags. There were many expensive and fancy items in there but none of them appealed to him really. He wanted to sit with her and give her a rundown of his vacation in Paris, show her some pics, but his limbs felt slack and lethargic and he wanted nothing more than to lie down and bury himself under the covers, put a pillow over his head and, basically, hide from the whole world? Or was he trying to hide from himself, from the memories, from the crushing weight of loneliness? He didn’t know. He heard Mrs. Hudson ask him again, “Sherlock, do you want some dinner? I wasn’t expecting you home tonight but I can still fix something quickly, say in fifteen minutes.”

 

“Nah.”

 

“You’ve eaten already?”

 

“Yes, at Charles de Gaul airport. I’m going to turn in.”

 

Mrs. Hudson shook her head in disbelief as she shut the front door. Things were turning out just the way she had feared. Sherlock was displaying all the signs of a broken-hearted and depressed man who had just suffered a breakup. “Doctor John Watson,” she muttered under her breath as she went back inside her flat, “I had warned you not to mess with him. I had warned Sherlock too. What do you do when people don’t listen to you and decide to suffer voluntarily? What do you do?”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doctor, please save my boy!

John woke up to a strange feeling. The pillow was wet _and so were his pajamas_.

 

Then he realized what had happened. He had had a wet dream after many, many years and a nightfall as a result of that. At the same time he had shed a few tears in his sleep, probably because he had dreamt of Sherlock all through the night.

 

He rolled over in his bed and tried to sleep again. Somewhere at the back of his mind some facts registered automatically. He was a morning person usually. If the sun was up and he had had about five hours sleep he often struggled to go back to sleep even if it was a day off or he didn’t have to be somewhere early on in the day. But today all he wanted to do was go back to sleep, not get up, not get out of this bed of from under the cocoon of the covers. He always found his bed soft, warm and very comfortable. He had ensured that by getting the king-size bed custom-made, with the best mattress and the 1000 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets and the fluffiest and most ergonomic pillows money could buy.

_But no such luck that morning._

 

He could neither get up nor find an iota of comfort in the same bed which had found a huge amount of favor from him as late as three nights ago.

 

But then things had changed. There was his life before Sherlock and there was now this life after Sherlock. Only three nights ago he had Sherlock in this very bed, curled up against him, sometimes fast asleep right on top of him, a few times spooning him or being spooned, however he lay on that bed, it was his presence that made John want to stay back there. The bed, mattress, pillow, sheets none of them really did a thing for him, not anymore.

 

“Oh,” John closed his eyes and wiped the sweat from his brow, “So that’s why I feel like shit.”

 

It eventually took him almost an hour to get out finally and drag himself to the shower. He skipped cooking breakfast and just mixed some porridge for himself, the instant-mix kind, and he ate only half of it as he stared at the empty chair at the kitchen table where Sherlock sat.

 

_Used to sit._

 

He decided to get to work early. He knew he could go at least an hour later but staying at his flat was not helping. He had to get out of here or he’d lose his mind. Not a good idea for a surgeon who had a six-hour surgery lined up for that afternoon.

 

Before he left the flat, he made arrangements for a moving company to pick up Sherlock’s bags and drop them at 221B. His housekeeper, who he had given a week’s paid vacation, showed up just as he was about to step out of the door. “Doc,” she said, “What about breakfast?”

 

“I had a bite to eat,” he said, “A guy named Trevor will be here to pick up…uh…a friend’s….um bags. Just ask him to pick up those, over there at that corner, okay?”

 

“Okay sure. Have a nice day!”

 

The drive to Barts was torturous. Not only did every pedestrian and every motorist look like Sherlock, on a couple of occasions John forgot he was alone in the car and began to ask ‘Sherlock’ a question, only to be slapped hard with silence and a huge sense of emptiness when he saw the vacant seat next to him. To make matters worse, the radio even started to play a song both of them liked. Queen’s ‘I want to break free’, the legendary voice of Freddie Mercury that was designed to lift people’s moods and get them all fired up. But it did the opposite to John that morning and he hurriedly shut off the radio and began to make phone calls instead.

 

It turned out to be a good decision to get out of the house and back to work because things improved heavily once John reached his designated hospital for that day, Barts. It was only eight-thirty and he got enough time to clear his mailbox, drink coffee, talk to the residents for a bit and also study the case history of the patient who was to be operated on. An Irish woman in her mid-fifties who had high blood pressure and a history of strokes in the family. She was also allergic to several drugs and her case was clearly complicated. A liver transplant, never easy and never free of danger, no matter how advanced medical science had become in the current century. John knew the slightest of mistakes would kill the patient.

 

Before he knew it, the clock said eight in the evening.

 

The surgery had been a success. The patient, who had been refused treatment by all doctors in Dublin and several of them in London, had been successfully operated upon by the young and talented surgeon John Hamish Watson and within moments of John leaving the OT, he began to receive congratulatory messages from several colleagues. “I missed a session with some medical students today,” John told his secretary Julie, “Please put my time on that tomorrow, pre-lunch, maybe the first session of the day.”

 

“Sure. Someone wants to see you.”

 

“Sherlock?”

 

“Who?”

 

“I mean, is it a tall good looking young man with curly hairs and…..”

 

“Actually no, the person I am referring to is a man of medium height and slight build really, with really scary eyes. He’s very cute when he smiles but those eyes, oh my God, that almost made me shudder. Rich bloke, was wearing a Prada suit….I mean is wearing one right now, anyways he is the patient’s son.”

 

“Julie,” John smiled, knowing how fond his secretary was of Irish men, accents and their ‘aura’, “I think you’re in love with him already.”

 

“Believe me,” she laughed, “Had his eyes not been so sharp and piercing, maybe I would be wearing his ring by now.”

 

John went into the little room adjoining his cabin where he changed clothes and washed up after surgeries. It took him a little over ten minutes to get out of the scrubs, wash his hands and face, get into regular clothes and comb his hairs. When he walked back into his chamber he was greeted with the sight of a very familiar face. The slender, dark haired man was sitting on a chair and reading the evening newspaper. He was, in fact, keenly studying an article published under the header _‘New techniques of Lasik surgery that could revolutionize the world and spell doom for the good old spectacles’._

 

“Jim,” John greeted.

 

“I want coffee, Starbucks, Cappuccino.”

 

John chuckled. That fellow was a demanding little prat. Nonetheless, he called Julie on the intercom and asked her to organize for the coffee. To his surprise, she showed up within two minutes with the right brew. “I overheard him and went to fetch it right away,” she cooed.

 

“You made quite the impression on my assistant,” John said jovially once she had left and Jim was adding a wee bit of sugar to his cappuccino.

 

“You made an even better impression on me,” Jim replied, “That was my mam you operated on. Foolish old cow drank to her death, almost. Thanks to Sebby and my younger sister I intervened on time and brought her over here. You saved my mother’s life, John.”

 

“I did my job,” John replied warmly.

 

“I still owe you,” Jim said solemnly.

 

“No, you don’t,” John shook his head, “This is my work and in our line of work there is no room for error or distractions, never. It was a long arduous and risk filled surgery but she’s fine now, she is stable and I will keep an eye on her for the next four days. In a week you can take her back home but she must, she HAS TO, stop drinking. And I mean completely stop. Next time she might not be so lucky.”

 

“I’ll ensure that. Hey, you know my net worth is about fifty million?”

 

“No, I don’t. Mine is about five. Why?”

 

“Nice joke. But I didn’t mention this for comparisons John, I meant to say that I have enough to give you whatever you want. A brand news sailboat with two tier decks and living quarters, toilet and kitchen below? A seven star all expenses paid vacation for a month and to and fro trips in a private jet? A townhouse? A limited-edition McLaren sports car? A night with Matt Bomer, name it and you’ll have it.”

 

“Matt is married,” John laughed, “And not my type.”

 

“Then who is?” Jim asked, eyes shining but in their dark devilishly gorgeous depths something dead serious lurked about and John spotted that immediately. He didn’t wish to discuss Sherlock with anyone, especially someone who was in a way Sherlock’s ex, but Jim had the sort of presence that forced people to spill the beans. His gaze was more of a dead-stare, it curated the brain and made people do whatever Jim wanted them to do. “I asked you a question, tell me who is your type, Doctor John Watson?” Jim repeated the question, this time leaning forward a little and nodding his head slightly.

 

“I don’t know,” John answered honestly, “I am a mutton-head in these matters.”

 

“He is NOT a prostitute John.”

“I know, I know. He just pretended to be a rent boy and we came to this arrangement.”

 

“Yeah, but you hired him like one would hire a whore. That does not make him a whore though. Look at me, I had been hired back in my teen days. Today I am a multi-millionaire whizkid who’s appeared on the cover of Business Weekly magazine and several Sunday supplements of the Economic Times newspaper. Things change, people change, fortunes change. Sherlock will, one day, become someone you’d be very proud of.”

 

“I already am proud of him.”

 

“Yet you let him go?”

 

“Jim…..it was an arrangement. I don’t think we had any expectations beyond the arrangement.”

 

“Have you discussed it with him? Or he with you? From experience I know he’s an idiot when it comes to matters of the heart.”

 

John smiled sadly, “I wish it was as easy as you’re making it out to be.”

 

Jim snorted, “I wish you could see that things in this world aren’t as difficult as you’re forcing them to be.”

 

The nurse came in at that point to announce that John had to do the first post-surgery checkup for Jim’s mother Daphne Brooke Moriarty and the conversation therefore came to an unexpected and sudden halt. John got up, put on his coat and Jim drank the last of his coffee and dropped the Styrofoam cup into the bin. “Remember what I said,” Jim spoke in an ominous voice that sent shivers down John’s spine, “He is NOT a rent boy and shouldn’t be treated as one. Also, if my help is needed then I am there, the offer still stands.”

 

“Of course, Jim.”

 

***

 

John went home, drank a few stiff shots and crashed on the couch. The next day he woke up with a top grade headache and a parched throat and had difficulty reporting for work. After worrying incessantly about his ability to perform a surgery that evening (a simpler one of not more than one hour and forty five minutes), he decided to ditch the drink and take a sleeping pill that night instead. Once again he slept on the couch, avoiding the bed diligently to prevent himself from missing Sherlock, and this time woke up with a crick in the neck so bad he had to wear a collar that day.

 

Five days passed in the same manner, John working like a dog and observing twelve to fourteen hour workdays and coming home to a frugal dinner and sedatives and then crashing on the couch.

 

On the sixth day John woke up and realized it was a weekend and he was not due to appear at any clinic or perform any surgery for the next two days. Relieved to have gotten a break after a rather hectic and emotionally stressful week, he went right back to sleep. But even in his dreams Sherlock wouldn’t leave him alone. He appeared time and again, sometimes in just his boxers and lounging on a recliner, at times in his bathrobe and shaving in the bathroom, once even naked and asking John if the birthmark on his chest looked sexy on him. “Yes it does,” John said and promptly fell off the couch, landing with a thump on the floor.

 

“What the…..” the doctor cursed and looked around. The living room was silent, not a soul in sight. His housekeeper had a week off that day so it was just him in the large flat. Had he spoken in his sleep or was the dream real?

 

Stupid, dreams are never real.

 

Groaning, he sat up. The soft rug had captured his fall and he wasn’t really hurt but it had been an unpleasant way to wake up. But at least I slept well after a long time, he consoled himself, and reached for the bottle of water on the coffee table.

 

Next time, try sleeping well without sedatives or alcohol.

 

John snorted and drained the bottle. “Shut up,” he said to himself, “Don’t talk about things that are not going to happen. I am trying to become a better man, am I not? I’ve been working hard, saving lives, taking on extra duties on behalf of colleagues and I don’t feel depressed anymore. That is an improvement. I need more time……fuck, what the shit, I am talking to myself. This is ridiculously crazy.”

 

The intercom buzzed and John jumped out of his skin for a moment. “I’m becoming insomniac and paranoid,” he muttered, reaching for the phone, “Hello Dave!”

 

Dave Barrington from the concierge desk downstairs replied saying a lady was waiting for him and was absolutely insistent upon seeing him right away. “She is a Londoner for sure, she’s in her mid-fifties I suppose and arrived on foot, definitely not some high-brow dame in a fancy chauffeured car,” the friendly but status-conscious concierge man whispered, lowering his voice considerably, “Never seen her visit you before. But seems like a decent lady, she’s unfailingly polite and says she’ll wait all day if she has to in case you are busy or not in. What am I supposed to tell her? Maurice from the security office has kept her back at the gate for the last fifteen minutes or so.”

 

“Can I see a security cam footage or still?” John asked. He had been in several such situations before where family members of poor patients had showed up requesting his help. He had always helped out as much as he could by operating for a reduced fee and getting them discounts for the stay in the hospital or nursing homes. He supposed this was one more such request from a lower income group family.

 

Then he saw the lady’s face on his cell phone, through an app that linked the cameras in and around the building it to the phones of the residents, and instantly asked Dave to let her come right up to his flat. “You sure?” Dave asked, a bit dubious about his generosity, “Shouldn’t she wait at the foyer or one of the waiting rooms?”

 

“No Dave, send her up, now.”

 

“All right then doc.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

***

 

“Mrs. Hudson,” John greeted her politely.

 

“Doctor Watson,” she said in a meek voice.

 

“Please come inside, sorry they kept you waiting downstairs for so long,” John apologized, noticing she was a little sunburned, “Please have some water. I was brewing some tea for myself, maybe you would like a cup too?” She accepted the glass of water and nodded thankfully, after which John walked to the kitchen to fill two cups with the best Darjeeling he had. “Here,” he handed one to her, “How have you been ma’am?”

 

“Doctor…..sir, please save my boy.”

 

John’s heart almost jumped out of his mouth. Sherlock was in trouble? Oh God, no……

 

Mrs. Martha Louise Hudson suddenly got up from her chair and came straight at him, going down on her knees before the doctor and clasping his hands with her own. A stunned, embarrassed John was about to react when she began to plead her case, giving him no chance to speak initially. “Please, Sherlock needs you. I don’t mean the doctor but the man and the friend he had suddenly got for a week, he needs that person. As soon as he is better and is eating properly, I promise I will help him cope and we won’t bother you again. But for now, please, just come over and see him once. One hour is all I am asking for. Please, for Sherlock’s sake, come with me.”

 

“Mrs. Hudson calm down and tell me what’s wrong?”

 

“He’s burning up. Hasn’t eaten or had a sip of water in twenty-four hours. Hasn’t left the room in six days.”

 

“And you’re coming to me now?”

 

“He asked me not to…..but today I ignored that request and took a decision t….”

 

Mrs. Hudson couldn’t finish her sentence. John was already running towards the door in his track pants, flip-flops and hoodie. He had picked up his car and house keys, his wallet and cell phone in his hands and looked red as a cherry. “Come on Mrs. Hudson,” he called out.

 

“Yes,” she replied, hurrying after him and a smile on her face, “God bless you doc!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know right? Men will be men. Don't ask, don't tell, just stew :)
> 
> Boys will be together soon!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JohnLock reunion.

The smell that greeted John the moment he entered Sherlock’s bedroom nauseated him. He recognized it well. A residual smell of coke, cheap cigarettes, alcohol, unwashed clothes and the stuffiness that resulted from a prolonged lack of ventilation. In the midst of it lay Sherlock, eyes closed and breathing in a raspy manner. He didn’t wake up even when three people entered the room, John, Victor and Mrs. Hudson.

 

“Open the windows Victor,” he ordered gently, “He needs some fresh air immediately and the room shouldn’t be stinking like this. Mrs. Hudson please get me some freshly made hot soup and a slice of bread. Where does he keep his clean clothes?”

 

Victor opened the windows and pointed, “In those suitcases over there. He got them from you. Honestly, we never had a lot and often they were not laundered because….um…..we don’t do that ourselves…..Hudders does that for us. Once a week.” He opened one of the duffel bags and pulled out a pair of new Calvin Klein boxer shorts and a soft O neck T-shirt from Benetton. “Lazy blokes you two, now please get me some cold water in a bowl and two clean towels,” John said as cheerfully as he could manage without taking his eyes off Sherlock who was literally unconscious and lying still on the narrow cot. Through his experienced eyes he knew there was nothing to worry but if left untreated for a few more days Sherlock could end up hospitalized with severe dehydration and breathing problems.

 

“Sherl, wake up, look at me,” he smoothed his palm over Sherlock’s forehead and winced. Sherlock was burning up. He checked his pulse, eyes, chest, heartbeat and blood pressure. Everything was below normal, though not really alarmingly so.

 

“Hnnnn…..”

 

“I am here. How are you feeling?”

 

“J-Jawn…..”

 

“Listen, we need to sponge down the fever and you got to drink water and eat something, so I can give you some medicines. Those can’t be taken on a completely empty stomach.”

 

“M’not h’ngry.”

 

“If you don’t eat I will force feed you and if you don’t drink water I will put you on an IV drip?”

 

“The Eiffel T’wr,” Sherlock’s eyes fluttered shut again, “It w’s there.”

 

“We’ll go and see it again,” John kissed Sherlock’s cheek and helped him sit up, “I promise you. But first, you need to get better. What the hell have you done to yourself little one? Huh? When did you take your last bath?”

 

“D-Don’ rem’mber.”

 

Victor came in with the water and towels just as John had managed to get Sherlock out of his T shirt. He looked at them, Sherlock leaning against John heavily, and hesitated for a moment, not sure if his help was needed any further. “Um,” John said a bit awkwardly, as he tossed the T shirt away, “I’ll sponge him. I’ll call you when it’s done.”

 

Fortunately, Victor understood and left, closing the door after him. “Come on now, cooperate,” John said, “Get out of your briefs.” He cursed himself for getting aroused at the sight of a near-naked Sherlock and resolutely pushed his libidinous desires away, concentrating on the task at hand. Sherlock yelped and complained and moaned but John sponged him down with a steady hand, found a can of deodorant and sprayed him with it while ignoring Sherlock’s mumbled protests, and helped dress him in fresh clothes. He put him on a chair and handed him a glass of water. “Drink,” he ordered, “Not gulps, sips, but I want you to finish it entirely by the time I am done here.”

 

“D-Done doin wh’t?” Sherlock slumped on the chair, slowly bringing the glass to his mouth.

 

“Changing the sheets,” John replied, “How did you manage to live in this pig sty?”

 

“D’din’t feel like…..”

 

“Kay, got it, now finish the water.”

 

John found himself in luck and located fresh sheets in the shallow closet. He changed the sheets and tossed Sherlock’s used clothes and the smelly old sheets just outside the bedroom door. Then he helped Sherlock get back in bed but didn’t let him lie down yet, instead propping him up with pillows and keeping him in a half-sitting position, covering him partially with the blankets. He had to eat first.

 

When Mrs. Hudson walked in with soup and bread she was quite taken aback by the changes in the room and Sherlock within twenty minutes. The room now smelled fresh, the bed looked tidier and so did Sherlock. John was sitting beside him on the bed.

 

“Give it to me,” the doctor offered, “I’ll feed him.”

 

“I can do that.”

 

“No, give it to him.”

 

They turned and saw Victor standing at the doorway, a small smile on his lips. He picked up the now wet towels and the bowl of dirty water, “Mrs. Hudson, let’s do the laundry together this weekend. Come on, Dr. Watson can manage.”

 

Mrs. Hudson was about to protest but she caught on quickly. “Yes, let’s do that,” she said, “Call us if you need anything.”

 

“Sure, will do that.”

 

***

 

It was dark outside by the time John woke up from a light doze and realized he was in a totally unfamiliar room. Rubbing his eyes and yawning, he straightened his back, cracked his neck with a popping sound and let out a deep sigh. Oh yes, he remembered now, _he was in Sherlock’s room at 221B Baker Street_. After feeding the sick younger man half the soup and one slice of bread, he had given him a pill to bring the fever down and help him sleep properly. Within seconds Sherlock had dozed off and after watching over him for a long time, he had fallen asleep as well.

 

But where was Sherlock? He was alone in the bedroom! He didn’t remember Sherlock having a ‘sleepwalking condition’…..then where could he have gone in his full senses? He was supposed to stick to bed in his sickly condition.

 

Soft footfalls announced his lover’s presence and he saw Sherlock walk into the bedroom. “Went to take a leak,” he explained as he entered. John quickly turned on a light and, much to his relief, saw how the brunette looked much better than a few hours ago. The color had not yet returned to his cheeks but his eyes no longer held the brightness and watery conditions of a fever, he looked steadier on his feet and even managed a small sheepish smile at John. “Would you believe it if I said I didn’t do anything of these things for attention?” The younger man said and sat down next to John.

 

“Why would you do that?” John asked affectionately. _I should have never left him on his own._ _The separation has evidently hit him much worse than me. He looks so thin and frail!_

 

“I dunno,” Sherlock replied in a small voice.

 

“You could have called me Sherl.”

 

“I didn’t want to disturb you Jawn.”

 

“I thought we had decided that we’d remain friends. We parted on good terms, didn’t we?”

 

“I didn’t think it was a good idea,” Sherlock sighed, “But I guess Mrs. Hudson must have called you in panic. It’s just a simple flu I have got, there was no need to bother you. You have your work to do.”

 

“Let’s get one thing straight,” John took Sherlock’s hand, “There is nobody more important to me than you are. Yes, I _have other patients_ but they also have other doctors to look after them. But you don’t need another doctor, not when I am around. I made that mistake with Mary, I won’t be such a cunt one more time in this life. As for Mrs. Hudson, she actually came to see me in person. She was worried sick for you.”

 

“God,” Sherlock did a facepalm, coughing a bit, “She actually went over to your place? I don’t believe this. John, I’ll ensure she never does something like this again.”

 

The good doctor saw his eyes lower and his face flush slightly from the consternation he felt. _It’s time John, tell him, it’s now or never_. “Come on, get into bed properly, you need to rest and we can chat while you have a cup of tea,” John insisted gently as he caressed Sherlock’s fingers tenderly, “In fact, I am very thankful that she came over to see me, so don’t be upset or embarrassed about it. Mrs. Hudson did the right thing here, she helped me decide about something much faster than I otherwise would have. I am sorry I hadn’t checked on you sooner or visited you earlier this week, I now feel I should have done that on my own.”

 

“You don’t have to do anything for me,” Sherlock mumbled.

 

“No, I do. You’re my friend Sherlock, friends help each other, take care of each other.”

 

“We are…..friends!!!?”

 

“Yes, yes we are. My bad I didn’t make that amply clear before. Of course we are friends. In fact we are probably a lot more than just friends. Like true men, idiots that we are, we didn’t have this discussion a week earlier. We should have done that, on our last night at Paris.”

 

Sherlock hands shook as he held the cup of tea John had just poured from the flask. “You-You mean to say……”

 

“I want more than just a week from you Sherlock,” John blurted out, unbothered by consequences. _At least I have asked, doesn’t matter what his reply is. I tried, that’s what is important._

 

“Me too,” Sherlock looked rather teary eyed, adorably emotional and very shaken by the turn of events, “I want more. What if I want……forever?”

 

“Then forever it shall be.”

 

“You’re saying that because you want it too, I hope. I don’t want you to agree to something just because I am not well right now and you feel sorry for me or worried about me.”

 

“During our time together, you taught me to take decisions based on what’s the right thing to do and not because we want to please people. This comes straight from the heart. I mean it.”

 

Sherlock looked at him in disbelief, happiness and fear (yes, fear), as if he was dreaming and whenever he woke up everything would disappear, including John. “I-I am…..I missed you so bad John, I couldn’t fall asleep at night….then when I slept I couldn’t wake up. I couldn’t eat or talk, all I wanted to do was stay in bed and just…..”

 

“Smoke your lungs out and snort a few powdery lines?” John asked, making it clear through his tone that he was none too happy about this.

 

Sherlock blushed bright red and clutched at his cup of tea, taking a few small sips from it and mumbling apologies for his appalling mistakes. “You behaved like a teenager after a breakup,” John slid into bed next to him and Sherlock immediately cuddled up in his arms, “Self-harm will never change the winds in your favor hon, a proper conversation does that. If you missed me then you should have called me or texted me, we could have met for a drink or a coffee. We could have talked and probably sorted things out under better circumstances than this. You got yourself a lung infection, a chest congestion, low blood pressure, sub-normal temperature and what not!”

 

Sherlock drained his cup to the last drop and extended his arm over John to place the cup on the night stand. “I thought I shall speak to you when you come down to drop my bags here. But you sent someone else. Earlier you had shown up here to pick me up. I was taken aback. I thought you had lost interest in whatever we shared and moved on. I didn’t want to disturb you and at the same time I couldn’t forget you. That’s when I……”

 

“I get that,” John felt his guilt double, “Extreme confusion and helplessness produces extreme reactions and decisions.”

 

“I didn’t want to be rejected….it would have wrecked me.”

 

“I had the same fears. But after seeing you sick and bedridden, my worries and feelings for you just pushed past all my prejudices.”

 

“I missed you so much Jawn!”

 

“Sherl, first tell me how you’re feeling! Sorry, I should have asked sooner. Your temperature has surely become normal.”

 

“Much better,” Sherlock yawned, resting his head on John’s chest, “A bit tired still and my chest hurts a bit when I cough but otherwise I am okay. I am hungry actually, I feel like eating something light, can you believe that?”

 

“It’s all a state of mind honey,” John turned his head and kissed Sherlock’s curls, “Okay, you need to shampoo tomorrow. You sleep for a bit, I shall get some food for you from Mrs. Hudson’s kitchen. But first, please have your antibiotics. You need them to kill the infection.”

 

“You will….you will stay with me here?” Sherlock asked, looking doubtful about John’s answer, “I’ll understand if you don’t want to.”

 

“I will,” John replied, undeterred by the squalid condition of the flat, “You shouldn’t stress yourself out tonight. Rest, eat, recuperate. Tomorrow evening I will take you back home with me, my flat in Kensington. _Our home_.”

 

***

 

Sherlock felt much better by the time they packed all his belongings and John drove them to his luxury pad the following evening. The antibiotics had weakened him slightly but he was young and strong and resilient and even managed to help John with half the luggage as they loaded up the fancy capsule elevator at ‘Royal Retreat’, the high-rise apartment block where John lived. They had packed everything on a whim and decided to move, choosing to decide about other factors later. They were in love, they couldn’t live without each other and Sherlock’s ‘family’ was supportive, as was John’s sister Harry.

 

“She thought the more of me,” John said as he prepared rice and chicken curry for them while Sherlock sat bundled up with blankets on a nice lounge chair they had dragged to the kitchen, “She hadn’t been as proud of any of my other achievements as she was of this.”

 

“Means, I am an achievement?” Sherlock smiled from ear to ear and John noticed how that smile reached his blue-green eyes. He took a sip of the Gatorade in his hands and said thoughtfully, “You see Jawn, she has played the supportive sis bit, now you need to play the supportive bro bit too. Maybe start by inviting her and her partner next weekend to stay here. I’d like to meet more members of your family and I am sure you’d want to meet her partner as well, see who she shares her life with.”

 

“I have bigger plans Sherl,” John said, stirring the curry in the pot, “We can’t do this next weekend though.”

 

“Mmmm…..cilantro, spices,” Sherlock licked his lips, “What plans?”

 

“The other flat, the one that belonged to my mum and dad, I was thinking of transferring ownership to her.”

 

“That’s a grand idea John.”

 

“Mum and dad left everything for me, as per their will. All the three and half million they owned, half of which is in cash and investments and the other half in that flat. Makes sense no, to split it fifty-fifty and give the flat to her while I keep the other half? I am a self-made millionaire Sherl, we have enough already. I saved up well.”

 

“Yeah, totally makes sense,” Sherlock cleared his throat and stretched like a cat, “Though that’s not what your parents wanted, now it’s all yours so you decide what you wish to do with it. Again, do the right thing, not something that suits me or anyone else. As for me, I am not even bothered about how much you have. I know this thing, you will always ensure I have enough and someday I will be able to split the bills with you!” He grinned as John came around the kitchen island and gave him a hug, “Oh, wait, why can’t you invite them over next weekend? Are you working or are they not free to join us?”

 

“Next weekend we are invited to a friend’s engagement,” John said and went back to the curry quickly, avoiding eye contact with his mate.

 

The topic didn’t come up till they sat eating their dinner in the dining room. Sherlock was again feeling a bit woozy and John decided to keep him under bed rest for two or three more days, at least till the course of antibiotics was done. Sherlock was mixing the last few spoonful of jasmine rice on his plate with the remaining bit of curry from his bowl when a sudden thought came into his head and he asked, “Hey….If it’s an engagement party then there has to be a gift for the couple, right? Mrs. Hudson always taught me such things, otherwise Victor and I thought that engagements and weddings are merely slurp and burp feasts. You must have bought something for them, right?”

 

“It’s a couple like us, two men, so maybe matching cufflinks.”

 

“Your colleagues? College mates?”

 

“No……I mean Mycroft and Greg.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, no sex in this one. It wouldn't have been possible for the righteous, conscientious John since Sherlock is unwell. But they will be at it later.... :D


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets an unusual ally to cope with the MyStrade engagement. John makes long term future plans for him and his partner

“Mycroft,” Sherlock turned up his nose, “I don’t like that guy. When you go for his engagement party, I’ll go to 221B and stay with Vic and Hudders.”

 

“No,” John objected, “Of course you won’t do any such thing. You will also accompany me to the party.”

 

Sherlock suddenly felt energized by anger and emotions. He threw the blanket off and stood up from the chair, frowning deeply. “Look, that fellow called me so many things,” he spat out, remembering the hateful tone and insulting words, “He considered me a whore and what not. I did accept pay from you but that was from YOU and NOT him, he had no such confirmation from you about my profession, so who the fuck gave him the right to judge me and call me names? The posh bastard! He might be your friend John but he will be no friend of mine, ever. Mark my words. He can never be a friend of mine, or the other way around.”

 

“Sherlock hush.”

 

“Don’t try to shut me up. I am telling the truth and even you know it.”

 

“Sherlock…..”

 

“No, I won’t go. You go, be happy, clap, drink champagne….”

 

“Listen to me baby…..”

 

“Don’t baby me!”

 

“Then stop acting like a juvenile!!!”

 

Sherlock blinked.

 

John sat on a chair and pulled Sherlock down on his lap, giving him a smiling, patient and meaningful glance. He knew Sherlock could get wound up rather easily but he calmed down just as rapidly. Given a taste of logic, he would always understand and accept a verdict or a decision. He just needed to be talked to with patience, tact and the right tone. “Hey, you and I are here in this flat, discussing my sister and my friends, your luggage is almost entirely here too, what does that mean?”

 

Sherlock blinked again, realization hitting him. “Means…..we are together?”

 

“As what?”

 

“Partners, I suppose.”

 

“Correct. And when two people are partners, they are also equals. This acceptance, that we are equal partners and there is no me without you or you without me, that has to come from all those who know us and happen to be our friends, family and colleagues. Right or not?”

“Right,” Sherlock said sheepishly, “I am beginning to see where you’re going Jawn. You want that man to accept me as your partner?”

 

“Not just accept, but accept with happiness and respect,” John said honestly and sincerely and the sincerity in his tone transformed Sherlock quickly. The frown turned into a look of uncertainty which in turn changed into a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “That’s my clever and sensible boy,” John ruffled his hairs and made him stand up, then stood up as well so they could stand toe to toe, “I know Mycroft acted like an arse but that behavior won’t be repeated. Neither will I let go of what happened that day at the Yard. He has to not only apologize for that day, he will also have to openly and unconditionally accept you within his group of friends and also his social circle.”

 

Sherlock looked a bit doubtful, “What if he does not?”

 

John snorted, “Then we will walk out of their house then and there and come back home. I shall never again speak to Mycroft Holmes after that.”

 

Sherlock thought for a long moment, weighing the pros and cons in his head, while John cleared the table and kept giving him hopeful glances. After almost five minutes Sherlock gave his verdict. “Fine,” he said, “I will accompany you. But this time I will snap right back at him if he as much as tries to taunt me. No more letting the likes of him walk over me and you’ll support me with that, okay?”

 

“Okieezaa!”

***

 

Jim was on all fours, a vibrator and a thick cock inside him as the blond, blue-eyed Sebastian rode him hard from behind. There was a wet patch on the sheets just beneath Jim’s open legs, where he had splattered his cum barely six or seven minutes ago.

 

“Yes, I can feel you tightening again,” Sebastian’s gruff, deep voice boomed in his ears just as the man’s heavy hung balls smacked hard against his smooth arse cheeks.

 

He was ready to cum again for the third time in under thirty minutes. Sebastian’s rock-hard muscle was brushing his prostate with every thrust, nudging past his sphincter and moving so deep within him that he no longer needed even a touch to his cock. His orgasm was hanging just by a thread, was going to smack him with its intensity and carry him over the cloud when…. when…… _his phone started to buzz_. “Don’t you dare answer that NOW,” Sebastian growled, upping the ante and thrusting in so hard and deep that Jim moved up inches on the mattress and howled out like a bitch on heat.

 

“I-I don’t wanna….just make me cum,” Jim’s voice was hoarse, he was pushing back with all he had as his cock began to throb and pulsate.

 

Sebastian felt a huge sense of satisfaction when he saw his ever-busy and device-addict boyfriend ignore the call and push back so wantonly against him instead. Treating this as a small victory, his arousal at an all-time high and pressure building in his balls, he thrust in hard one last time and began to cum helplessly. Jim had already cum before but Seb had held himself back, so his climax was humungous and all-consuming, leaving him drained and groaning and jelly-limbed at the end. Jim felt the heavy load in his arse slowly start to drip out and let go, the slippery rubbing from his well-endowed lover acting as the last stimulus he needed to reach a third climax.

 

As soon as they were done and Sebastian softening dick had slipped out of Jim, the phone began to buzz again. Sherlock’s face and number flashed on the screen but Jim quickly covered that with his arm.

 

“God damn it,” Sebastian snarled and collapsed face down next to his partner, “I need to sleep it off. If it’s one of your dickhead business clients who have no sense of time or privacy, go on and yap with them but don’t wake me.”

 

“All right you grumpy pants,” Jim smacked Seb’s bare arse and then kissed the spot, “I’ll take the call in the walk-in closet.”

 

He slipped into the master closet which was bigger than the master bedrooms of many houses and shut the sliding door. “Hey Sherly,” he said in a hushed whisper, “It is midnight man. Why are you calling me now?”

 

“I thought I could call you anytime.”

 

“Yeah, but I have a partner now and…..”

 

“You’re scared of him? Dearie me, Jim Moriarty scared of someone! Please, give me a bloody break here.”

 

“Enough sarcasm. I just love him, okay? What do you want? Shall I call that doctor of yours and threaten to break his balls and tailbone unless he comes over to 221B and takes you home, like a knight in a shining…..SUV?”

 

He heard Sherlock laugh softly and then whisper, “I am with him now. He came to take care of me when I was unwell and then took me home the next day. I had actually called to tell you about this good news……and also for a little help with something the next weekend.”

 

“Say that again,” Jim insisted, holding on to the edge of a wardrobe handle and hoping that he was hearing this right, “John Watson the surgeon? That man and you are an item now? Since when? Where are you at this moment?”

 

“His flat at Kensington,” Sherlock replied excitedly, checking his watch for the time since John was due to be back any moment from an emergency surgery, “Been there since Sunday evening. Frankly speaking, even I find it hard to believe at times that this has really happened.”

 

“Congratulations, nice catch and thanks for telling me this even if it comes along with a request for a favor,” Jim was pleased and had already started picturing John and Sherlock together as a couple. He had never told Sherlock before but ever since he had found Sebastian, he had secretly hoped that Sherlock would also find someone to love him and take care of him. For all his outwardly bravado and sharp intellect, Sherlock was a bit of a softie inside and Jim knew he suffered the pangs of loneliness many a time. To see Sherlock with a decent man like John, someone who was the perfect foil of calmness to Sherlock’s high-strung nervous energy, that was very assuring.

 

“I do need that favor,” Sherlock confessed, feeling a bit bad that he was expecting something from Jim after all these years, “Much as I hate to be a bother, I know you are the only one who can help me out.”

 

“What is it? Go on, tell me. But remember, no free lunches. If I do help you then you’d owe me one later.”

 

“Yes, sure, goes without saying Jimmy! There is this man named Mycroft Holmes. Next Saturday we have been invited to his parents’ house in Surrey for his engagement party, with a detective inspector from Scotland Yard, named Greenwood Lestrade……”

 

“Greg Lestrade.”

 

“Yeah Graham Lestrade….”

 

“Sherlock it’s…..”

 

“What? Why are you interrupting me?”

 

Jim sighed audibly on the line and then scoffed, “Forget it, just continue.”

 

Sherlock gave a full rundown of how he had met Mycroft very briefly and how nasty and condescending the man had been, the way he had assumed a thousand things about Sherlock and spewed out his venom to Lestrade. Jim listened patiently, not interrupting Sherlock at all except for once where he had a question about whether Mycroft also had a ‘thing’ for Sherlock or not. Finally, when the story came to an end and the real ‘favor’ was asked, he answered.

 

“Oo-kaay……So if I have got this right then here is what you want from me - If Mr. Mycroft Holmes gets too overbearing, rude and horrid when you’re at his house, you want me to be your knight in shining armor and rescue you from the toxic party. I am supposed to do this without your pet doctor realizing it as a prior setup, right?”

 

“Oh, one more thing. He knows me as Shane, not Sherlock.”

 

Jim rolled his eyes and stretched out his legs, sitting down on a cushioned stool next to the rows and rows of shoes he owned. “First let me say that you gotta stop being ashamed of your unusual name Sherly. That’s your most unique possession, a name nobody will forget. I know, you always think I had it easy with my kind of common name but imagine how boring and un-recall worthy it is. There are, at any point in time, at least ten Jim’s on every big and bustling street in London. Same situation in Dublin as well. Either change your name legally or proudly call yourself Sherlock but don’t you dare lie one more time. Second, don’t worry about that party. I won’t let anyone insult you.”

 

“How would you prevent that?”

 

“Because even I am invited to it.”

 

“What?” Sherlock’s voice was laced with astonishment, “You know Mycroft Holmes?”

 

“His father,” Jim replied, “Mycroft I have met a couple of times, but more like hi-hello-what’s up- bye then kinda meetings. But with his father things are deeper and we have forged an unlikely friendship. Like me, he’s also an astrophysicist. Like me, he went into business and didn’t really pursue a career where his passion lay. Only difference, he’s into real-estate business and I am into business solutions online. Anyways, Seb and I are invited and will be there. In fact, we are going to be their house-guests overnight so trust me you’ll have good old Jim around to give you a hand-up in case you need.”

 

“Thanks a mega million Jim. You know, I could help you with something starting tomorrow. I could create proper profiles of all your prospective buyers and clients, giving insights on their past, their passion, their pet peeves and what factors they consider before signing a deal. All you have to do is send me their photos and a bit of a write-up on their business and background.”

 

“Sounds good,” Jim walked back towards the bedroom, “Um….what is Lestrade’s first name.”

 

“Who Lestrade?”

 

“Mycroft’s soon to be fiancé and the Scotland Yard DI. You’re going to their engagement, at least you should know their first names.”

 

“Oh yes, yes, Graham.”

 

“Sheesh!”

 

***

 

The day arrived when Sherlock and John had to leave for the stately home the Holmes family owned in Surrey, where papa and mama Holmes were hosting the small engagement party for their son and intended son-in-law. It was a small get-together, with not more than thirty people invited, including close family members and some friends and associates of Mycroft and Greg. Everyone had been invited to stay overnight and the Holmes family had booked several rooms at a luxury hotel close by so their guests didn’t have to drive home that late that night after having a few drinks.

 

“We are not going back the next morning, are we?” Sherlock asked.

 

“No, we are not invited for brunch,” John said as he helped Sherlock fix his bow tie, “For that only family members are invited, about ten of them. The rest are still going to be looked after though, they have paid for our stay as well as breakfast at the heritage hotel close to the Holmes family mansion. Once we are up, the hangover has reduced and we have had a bite to eat, we will start for London and hopefully be back here by mid-afternoon. Remember, next day we have to get your enrollment formalities completed for the new academic year and I have a surgery scheduled in the second half.”

 

“Yeah,” Sherlock replied, “This okay?”

 

“Yeah,” John nodded, “You look real good in a suit Sherl.”

 

Sherlock looked at the tuxedo and shiny new shoes, then gave a stare of dismay at John. “What happened now?” John knew something was bothering Sherlock, something other than just the prospects of facing the snooty Mycroft, “Tell me. If we can’t talk openly with each other, we will never be a real family. If there is something I can do to help ease your turmoil, I’d be happy to do so.”

 

“It’s not turmoil exactly,” Sherlock sighed, “It’s just…..”

 

“Tell me.”

 

“This suit and the three others I own, you have bought all four for me. All my clothes, gadgets, watches and shoes, all the good things in my closet, you’ve gifted them to me. I am living under your roof, eating your food and now you are about to sponsor my education as well.”

 

“So?”

 

“I feel useless John. I feel like a parasite. I am not used to being so dependent on someone.”

 

John smiled.

 

“Listen hon, I’m very proud of you and the self-respect and self-reliance you show at every step. But nobody, NOBODY, can get through life just on their own efforts. Everyone at some point accepts support from others, whether it’s financial, moral, psychological, physical or something else. I’ve taken a lot from you too, you taught me to move on from my past and accept myself the way I am. I owe you this new, happy, healthy life that surrounds me. Yes, the financial help shows prominently but other kinds of help do not, that doesn’t mean it’s not there.”

 

Sherlock nodded, somewhat easier now than before but not entirely convinced.

 

“Okay, when you start earning in two or three years from now, you will pay for half the expenses of our home and family, good now?”

 

Finally Sherlock smiled, “Deal.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock steps into the Holmes mansion and slowly the puzzle pieces start to click in place.

John could sense from the way Sherlock’s eyes widened that the very sight of the Holmes family home, ‘Providence Estate’, that he was quite overwhelmed. He understood why. The Holmes family came from old money and had been wealthy, educated, posh and upper-class for over a century. Their house was also a hundred years old at least and had once belonged to a British Earl. Not only did it have enough acreage around it, the garden was perfectly landscaped and had a swimming pool and a koi fish pond attached to a mini manmade waterfall.

 

“Those are the staff quarters, earlier they used to call it outhouses,” John explained as they drove into the sprawling property.

 

It was a fifteen-bedroom property with seventeen bathrooms, one formal sitting area, two informal sitting areas, two parlors for the family to sit in, a breakfast room, a huge formal dining room, two kitchens, two home offices and one games room which boasted of a pool table, chess and bridge playing areas and a wet bar. There was also a gym and an art and music room, plus a private min-theater that could comfortably seat thirty people. Tastefully decorated, a nice mixture of the old and elegant and the new and quirky, the house reflected the warmth and grandeur of a rather respected and revered family.

 

Mrs. Eugenia Holmes was standing there with her husband, Reginald, to welcome the guests. The moment John stepped out, they greeted him with huge smiles. “Dr. Watson,” Eugenia gave him a brief hug, “It’s so nice to see you again.”

 

“Thanks for inviting me,” John said warmly.

 

Reginald shook hands with John, “I hope you haven’t come alone. Greg was telling me you have a partner now.”

 

“Yes, here he is….where is he,” John turned to the empty spot next to him and then looked at the car. Sherlock had not got out of it and was still sitting in it. “Oh, he is young and very shy,” John quickly went down the steps and opened the car door, “Hey, come on out, meet them.”

 

“What if they don’t want me here?” Sherlock asked, “What if they are just like Mycroft?”

 

“They are not. Come on now, don’t worry, it will be fine.”

 

“Remember, my name is Shane. Don’t call me Sherlock.”

 

John smiled, “Yes of course, I shall remember that. Come now.”

 

Sherlock stepped out. Eugenia gasped. Her hands shook and she dropped the clutch purse she was holding in her hands. Her husband, surprised at the sudden slip from his wife, who was always in control and never clumsy, bent down to pick it up. The moment he looked up and saw the tall lad with the green-blue eyes and dark brown curls, he dropped the purse on the steps again, much like the way his missus had dropped it a few seconds earlier. The butler quickly picked it up for them.

 

“Reg….Reggie…..?”

 

“Yeah, I know, he looks just like……my dad.” Reginald also stared wide-eyed at the young man who appeared to have stepped out of a portrait they had hung on the top of the stairwell that led to the floors upstairs from the ballroom. In that portrait Gordon Theodore Sherlock Holmes stood proud and handsome, his slightly long and curly hairs wild and untamed, wearing a suit that was in fashion those days. He was fresh off his University glory at Cambridge, a young man in his mid-twenties who was ready to take on the world. John’s partner looked so much like that man, that for a second the Holmes couple felt as if they had gone back in time and this was the late thirties, not 2014.  

 

As he stepped closer they also noticed that the young man not only had an eerie resemblance to Reginald’s father Theodore Holmes, he also had the color of his eyes.

 

“It’s okay, it’s okay, lots of people have that condition, eyes which change colors and seem both blue and green at the same time….depending on the light,” Eugenia muttered to herself.

 

Her husband overheard her, “Listen, let’s not make it difficult for ourselves. He is not our son. We can’t do this to ourselves, we just can’t. It’s cruel to do this to Mike today.”

 

“N-No, I won’t say anything.”

 

“Yes, that’s a good idea.”

 

“Shane, my boyfriend,” John introduced Sherlock proudly, “It’s very early days into this relationship because we met barely a few weeks ago. But it’s going strong and he has moved in with me at my Kensington flat. He is going to join Cambridge this year, rejoin I mean, to pursue his masters in biochemistry. He also wants to do a specialized course in forensic sciences.”

 

“That’s so nice to hear,” Eugenia felt a strange connection to the youngster who was clearly nervous and shy, “Cambridge is a very special place for us. All the men in our family have been to Cambridge.”

 

“Good afternoon ma’am,” Sherlock said.

 

This time Reginald got a shock. That voice! It sounded just like he used to in his younger days. A baritone that would only get deeper and more authoritarian and commanding over years. It was like watching a younger version of his father and hearing a younger version of himself. Strangely unsettled, he chose to give Sherlock a hug instead of the customary handshake. “Welcome son,” he said, “I hope you have a great time.”

 

Sherlock nodded and stepped inside with John. “They looked so pale and taken aback when they saw me,” Sherlock said, frowning, “You sure they are okay? They didn’t seem to be.”

 

“Hmmmm,” John elbowed him in a teasing manner, “Deductions?”

 

Sherlock rattled off without a second thought. “She is an intellectual and a philanthropist. Likes to paint and socialize. She is successful in her own right and has her own money, which gives her a confidence that makes her stand taller and glow with self-assurance. He is a total aristocrat, possibly he was acerbic and stern at some point but right now he is a changed man. With age he has not only mellowed, but also expanded his eclectic tastes. Of late he enjoys gardening and has taken a shine to chess. But both of them have a strange sadness in their eyes, possibly because they had a major setback in life when they lost their son. Anyways, in short, I like them better than their son.”

 

“I thought so,” John said, “Come, let’s get a drink.”

 

They soon found Greg and Mycroft and thankfully Mycroft seemed to be determined to remain polite to his guests. He largely ignored Sherlock but didn’t make any unflattering comments either. Greg made up for that by talking to Sherlock more than he talked to John. Soon they were joined by other friends, two of them being Jim and Sebastian, and the atmosphere grew increasingly lighter and easier, with jokes and banter thrown in.

 

“So which of the two is the wife?” Jim asked Mycroft who rolled his eyes but also broke into one of his rare smiles.

 

Sherlock’s eyebrows rose. Jim really didn’t care about anyone. That was the advantage of a man with money and success early on in life. Sherlock made up his mind to think big and do something spectacular with his life. He had to repay John for every penny spent on him and hopefully be successful and wealthy on his own mettle by the time he was thirty. Or was money really so important? What about his dream of becoming a……

 

“Hey,” Greg handed him a beer, “C’mon, cheers!”

 

“To you and Mr. Holmes.”

 

“Um….about him…..I apologize for that day.”

 

“Which day?”

 

“C’mon Shane, we both know what we’re talking about. He was not fair that day, talking about you without knowing you. He had no idea how serious your relationship with John was. But hey, I know he is my fiancé and it seems funny to say I am defending him _because I really am_ ……but this is the truth, Mike isn’t so bad, he has his redeeming qualities for sure, but sometimes he kind of gets carried away.”

 

“In other words, he is a loose mouth and very judgmental.”

 

“Forgive him man, how difficult is that? I promise you he will never speak like that again.” Greg’s words had a positive impact on Sherlock and he chose to push his disgruntlement and discomfiture aside and focus on the company instead. Greg seemed like a good man and as he kept explaining more about his work, the interesting cases they handled at the Yard and how he enjoyed his role as a DI, Sherlock got more and more engrossed. Then, as the DI spoke of so many homicides and heists cases where the trail had gone cold and the books were shut because there was simply no proceeding further, he suddenly had a brilliant idea. His dream could become true, at least a bit.

 

“Do you believe I can work as a consultant for the Yard?”

 

“Huh? Aren’t you still a student?”

 

“That’s the beauty of being an unpaid consultant. I can take on only as much as my schedule permits me.”

 

“Oh well, novel concept…..we can give it a shot.”

 

***

 

Two and half hours passed uneventfully. More and more guests showed up and the party got livelier and the property was filled with the sounds of chatter and laughter.

 

Mr. and Mrs. Holmes seemed a bit subdued, but all the guests forgave them. They knew today was the day the couple had lost their younger son and it took a mammoth effort from them to find closure by hosting a happy event on this very day.

 

Jim Moriarty was closing a deal over the phone while Sebastian and John and a few others competed in a dart throwing challenge in the garden. The sunlight was fading by that time and twilight was setting in. The noise was too much so he stepped indoors, going from room to room to find some privacy and quiet so he could talk without having to ask his client to repeat herself every three seconds. He soon found himself in the art and music room where, thankfully, no other guest or servant had stepped in yet.

 

He stood in one corner and finished his conversation. As soon as the deal was sealed, he disconnected, sent an email and was about to join the others when the door opened and in stepped Mycroft and Eugenia.

 

Embarrassed, Jim stepped back into the shadows.

 

“No Mike, no need to do this.”

 

“Mummy, I have to do this. I always do this on this day. Please, don’t stop me.”

 

Mrs. Holmes sighed and rubbed her son’s arm while Mycroft unveiled a large framed photograph of a beautiful angelic looking child in expensive kid’s clothes that were quite in fashion in the early eighties. The child had dark brown curls, a rosebud mouth and sparkling green-blue eyes. Fair as a lily and a wee bit on the chubby side with cute fluffy cheeks, he was the sort of boy even strangers would stop to pet or take a photograph with. He sat in a battery operated kiddie car that was designed just like a BMW of those days. He held the steering wheel with one hand and waved at the camera with the other. Though he was smiling his eyes held a rather serious expression. One could easily see this was no average kid and he had a lot of potential when he’d grow up.

 

“William,” Mycroft touched the picture reverently, apologetically, almost tenderly, “I am so sorry brother mine. Please, if you’re still there, if you are still in this world, find a way to come back home. Our family has never been the same since we lost you. I am sorry I am getting engaged today. This event holds no joy for me, in fact nothing in my life holds any joy for me. My happiness had ended that day when……”

“Mike stop, stop,” Eugenia implored.

 

“Mummy I am……”

 

“He won’t come back. Why don’t you see things through a lens of logic and rationale? You are always practical and sensible, then why such an impossible dream? He was so young back then that he’d have no memories of us or this house. Even if he’s there, he wouldn’t know this is his home or we are his family. The only thing we can hope for is that he’s alive, safe, healthy and happy somewhere. That’s all we can pray for.”

 

“Twenty-one years mummy. William would have been twenty-four if he was with us.”

 

“Hush now, let’s go and look after the guests. Think about poor Greg. He doesn’t deserve this kind of neglect. Come on now.”

 

As they left the room, Jim emerged from the shadows and went to stand before the huge photograph. From the moment it had been unveiled he had felt a bit weird, a little uneasy, like one feels when they think they know something but can’t remember it. This little kid, whom the family lost many years ago, reminded him strongly about someone he knew. But for the life of him he couldn’t recollect who it was.

 

“Jimmy,” Sebastian called out from the hallway, “Whatcha doin here?”

 

“Nothing,” Jim said after one last look at the photograph and slowly trotting out of the room, “Was just taking a call.”

 

***

 

“Are you okay Mike?”

 

Mycroft nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard John call out to him. The exchange of rings was over and couple had received the kudos and congratulations for their just-engaged status. Champagne flowed freely and the party was on in full swing. One of the guests was a professional musician and was enthralling the guests with her piano and accompanying vocals. But Mycroft kept disappearing from the ballroom and the garden where the guests spilled over whenever someone needed fresh air or a smoke. On one such occasion John, who had just made a trip to the washroom, found him in one of the home offices and checked.

 

“Yeah, fine, sort of,” Mycroft said as he pored over some old albums which contained family pictures from the time his baby brother was with them. As John stepped inside, Mycroft willingly showed him the photos, a wistful smile on his lips as he explained some of them. “Look at these pics, these are my brother William’s candid shots. Here he is, in his bath, that one was his first day at kindergarten, this one over here is from a family picnic. That one is his ‘nude shot’. We used to joke he would be furious with us when he grows up. These pics and the memories are all that remain John. Why is it that I can’t give up hope?”

 

“I know it’s hard,” John said, “My sister is alive and hale and hearty. Yet we had this separation due to some misunderstandings and I felt terrible about it. In your case, it’s a lot more tragic so I’d say it’s okay to feel this way. Maybe over time it will fade.”

 

“I sure hope so.”

 

“You still think he’ll be back.”

 

“After finding out the disturbing details of his abduction from that criminal…..I am kind of sure he is there. He has grown up somewhere else, in a different house perhaps, but he is alive.”

 

“A bit of a stretch Mike.”

 

“My dad used to say that whenever you remove the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be true.”

 

“Hmmm, I think he was right…..” John stopped speaking as he flicked over a page and looked at a particular photograph, his eyes freezing on a spot there, “……this one…..!”

 

“His nude shot, as I said. He’s sitting in the garden, this very garden. Daddy had bought a splash pool for him, it was the in-thing those days for little kids who couldn’t be taken into a pool yet.”

 

“No, this mark here……” John pointed.

 

“Birthmark,” Mycroft shut the album gently, “It was shaped like a four-leaf-clover and it was several people’s belief that he would be a very lucky child and bring loads of fortune and fame to the family. I guess he might have, had I not been the idiot who lost him.”

 

Putting the album away, Mycroft got up and walked out of the room mumbling that he should join the party before Greg missed him or his parents found him away from it. John, however, kept standing next to the polished Cherrywood desk, his mind a blur and his brain refusing to function straight. Was this really happening? That birthmark, that four-leaf-clover shaped birthmark, he had seen it on another man. None other than Sherlock, his Sherlock, and it had been on the same spot as the one on the Holmes child in the album. This couldn’t be sheer coincidence, this had to have a deeper meaning.

 

Was Sherlock the same William the Holmes family had lost twenty-one years ago???


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> William Sherlock Scott Holmes

By the time John staggered out of the study, eyes unfocused and mouth open in bewilderment and disbelief, he almost knocked into some other guest. “Watch it,” the other man said in an annoyed tone before he added, “John! What’s wrong with you? Why are you walking like a blind man who’s also drunk?”

 

“Jim,” John knew he had to share this with someone and validate his suspicions before he even mentioned it to Sherlock and Jim was the perfect one for it. The man knew Sherlock from his younger days and was a sharp, intelligent guy. He would look at things objectively.

 

“I sense you want to tell me something, don’t ya?” Jim Moriarty, ever perceptive and sharp and cunning, immediately guessed what was on John’s mind. John nodded and without further ado Jim dragged him back into the study and lowered the lights in that room so no one would suspect they were in there. “All right then Dr. Watson,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest, “Make this quick. My boyfriend thinks I am in the washroom so I cannot make this an hour-long meeting. What have you done? Accidentally groped some other man or woman? Broken some family heirloom?”

 

“The William kid who went missing years ago…..”

 

Jim’s eyes narrowed, “You’re thinking about that too?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Jim waved his arm dismissively, “Never mind John, just tell me what you gotta say first. I shall go next.”

 

“I have a feeling it could be Sherlock.”

 

“Our Sherlock? Okay, now technically he is YOUR Sherlock.”

 

“Yeah,” John was exasperated by the wordplay, “Who else do we know who’s got an unusual name like his?”

 

Jim appeared to be thinking hard for a moment. “Tell me everything that made you feel so,” he said, switching to a more serious tone this time, “If this is indeed true, then we must take this forward step by step, with proper evidence and logic and not just a blind hunch.”

 

John quickly and lucidly explained everything about the birthmark. From the day he had first noticed it to his conversation with Sherlock who had confirmed it had been there as long back as he could remember, then the photograph in the Holmes family album where Mycroft had called out that same birthmark when John had asked him. He too had called it the ‘four-leaf-clover’ shaped birthmark.

 

“I-I have seen the birthmark too,” Jim tried to remember, “Back when we were dating for a year. Yesss, I have seen it too. I have a birthmark which is the shape of a sword and he used to show me his and joke that while I symbolize strength, he symbolizes prosperity, good luck and fortune. Yes, he did have that birthmark and also……..EUREKA!!!”

 

John sprang back in shock. “Wh-What happened?”

 

“I know it,” Jim sang and started dancing a jig around the room like a little child who had just won a first prize at a talent competition, “I KNOW IT NOW. I remember, I do, yesss I do, yes-yes-yes, John fucking Watson, for an average looker and a man of modest intelligence, you happen to be quite bright. You made me connect the dots. Woooo-hoooo!!!” He grabbed John and dragged him out of the room but instead of taking him towards the rooms where the guests were and the party was going on merrily, he started pulling the doctor in the opposite direction. John followed reluctantly, looking over his shoulder repeatedly to see if he Mycroft was anywhere around.

 

“Shouldn’t we talk to Mike?” He asked.

 

“Hold on,” Jim said, “I need a last confirmation here.”

 

“Where?”

 

“Art and music room.”

 

“But, what’s there?”

 

“Come on and I shall show ya.”

 

As soon as they were in that room which was at the absolute end of the hallway, Jim switched on all the lights and that one spotlight that shone right above the photograph that hung in the room’s pride of place, exactly in the middle and on the wall bang opposite the door. “Look, that is the childhood pic of the baby boy named William. But this family has a long tradition of normal first names and unusual second names and a third name to boot before the family name appears.”

 

“And so?” John felt a bit foolish. He couldn’t really understand what was on Jim’s mind.

 

“So William must have had a longer name and we need to find out what it is,” Jim peered into the bottom of the pic, right on the spot above the expensive silver frame, “Oh yes, look at this John, look at it. See for yourself.”

 

Which John did and his breath caught at his throat when he read the full name. It said ‘William Sherlock Scott Holmes’.

 

***

 

“Look at him, the doofus,” Jim said as he saw Sherlock trying to compete at arm wrestling with Sebastian and losing badly, “Totally oblivious that he is not a guest in this house but its heir and owner……That he’s no ordinary poor kid or luckless orphan but the child of illustrious and wealthy parents and the baby bro of a super-successful brother.”

 

John’s eyes were moist. God, how wicked were the ways of fate! This young man, easily worth fifteen to twenty million pounds, had been forced to abandon his studies and take up prostitution. But then, sweet was the intervention of fate. Had Sherlock not offered to be with him for a night and he hadn’t taken up the young man on it, they wouldn’t have been together and Sherlock could have never found himself back with his real family.

 

Jim quickly dragged Sherlock out, Sebastian following them with a befuddled expression on his face. The four men bundled into a bathroom where John asked Sherlock point blank how he got his name. “I didn’t name myself for sure,” Sherlock said, looking a bit puzzled at the suddenly mysterious behavior of his friend and his boyfriend, “Someone at the orphanage did. What I was told is this…..I was found wearing this name in fact, it was on a half-torn name badge sewed on to the clothes I was wearing. Well, that means my family might have given me this strange name which the orphanage carried on. I wish I could ask my parents why.”

 

“Do you by any chance have those clothes?” Jim asked, “Or that badge?”

 

“Not the clothes, but the badge, yes. In fact I keep it in my wallet.”

 

“Oh, you do!”

 

“Yeah. Don’t laugh but I feel good keeping it with myself. I might not show it a lot but I do think about my family sometimes, my birth family I mean, and wonder what they were like. Keeping this item close to me somehow makes me feel I am still connected to them. Hah, what nonsense am I spewing. Okay, first of all, why am I being interrogated this way and why has John just locked us into a bathroom?”

 

“What is going on?” Sebastian asked, “Okay, since we are here I’ll take a leak.”

 

“Ewwww,” Sherlock turned away.

 

“What? Never seen a cock?” Jim snarked.

 

“Guys, focus,” John added.

 

“No John, I am NOT okay with a foursome in a house where we are guests and we won’t focus on Sebastian’s cock,” Sherlock spoke with evident dismay on his face.

 

The situation had taken such a comical turn that Jim, for once, didn’t know how to explain and what to say to whom. To compound the confusion, the bathroom doorknob turned and then someone called out ‘Who is in there? Hope you’re not locked in.’

 

It was Mycroft Holmes’ voice.

 

John was unprepared for this moment and naturally quite embarrassed by it. Without putting too much thought into it, he opened the door wide, coming face to face with a completely freaked out Mycroft. To make matters even more comical, Sebastian zipped up with an audible sound and flushed the toilet. “Look, we have three bathrooms on this floor and only thirty guests present,” Mycroft was his usual ‘calculating’ self, “There is no reason on heaven and earth to bundle into one bathroom, all four of you…..unless you were thinking of…..Holy Moses, John, Sebastian, how could you both agree to this?”

 

Jim stepped forward, “You mean to say Sherlock and I are likely to do something like this?”

 

“No, I um errr…..” Mycroft was always a bit wary of Jim and his sharp tongue, “I didn’t mean that. I meant…….wait, what did you call him?”

 

“Sherlock,” Jim waggled his brows.

 

“No, he is Shane,” Mycroft maintained.

 

Sherlock stared in confusion. Sebastian looked fairly silly as he washed his hands, shrugging his shoulders at Mycroft. Only John caught on and said, “He asked to be called Shane because people make fun of his real name, which is Sherlock.”

 

“Noooo,” Sherlock grabbed John’s arm, “No, don’t do this…..”

 

Jim snapped at him, “Shut up.”

 

Sherlock gave him a dismayed glance. “Jimmy please.”

 

“What is going on?” Mycroft massaged his temples, distressed and upset, “If this is a joke then it’s in very poor taste. Sherlock was the middle name of my younger brother, who we lost on this very day twenty-one years ago. If you guys are suddenly renaming him Sherlock, I must say it’s very wicked and insulting to the poor boy’s memory. He is Shane……not Sherlock. He cannot be Sherlock.”

 

“Why?” John asked, “Why can he not be?”

 

“Because…..”

 

“Mike, you have been holding on to hope for years that he is alive. Suddenly, when you see someone who might be your brother, you change your stance? What are you afraid of? Being duped? We vouch for this, Sherlock is William, the little baby you and your family lost all those years ago at Trafalgar Square.”

 

“No,” Sherlock did a facepalm, cluing in a bit but still not totally sure of which way this was going, “I was found at Charring Cross by one of the benefactors of the orphanage where I grew up. That’s what I have been told.”

 

Mycroft froze. A lane close to Charring Cross was where Archer McKinney had admitted he had lost little William. Although Mycroft was known for his cool, unruffled persona, he could no longer hold back the jitters that ran through his system. Hands shaking visibly, he walked towards Sherlock with unsteady steps and stared into the young man’s face. Sherlock blushed purple and stepped back, comically hitting the porcelain pot with the back of his legs. He was about to fall backwards when Jim grabbed his arm and steadied him. “You guys are telling me this is my long-lost brother William,” Mycroft murmured, clearly in a daze, “Just because his name is Sherlock? Is that all the proof you have?”

 

“What is going on?” Sherlock asked, “Why are you telling him lies? I am not William. I am Sherlock. Yeah, weird name, I know, and I did ask to be introduced as Shane, but I cannot lie so much. My name is NOT William…..”

 

“Keep out of this,” Jim snapped at him, “Mike, just keep an open mind and we will show you more proof…..”

 

Jim grabbed Sherlock and ripped open his shirt. The bow tie snapped off and Sherlock yelped and pushed Jim away, “Stop! What the fuck! Jawn, please stop him.”

 

“You idiot,” Jim snarled, “Let me!”

 

“No, no, no!”

 

“Sherl, please take off your shirt. You are about to become a millionaire.”

 

“No Jawn. I won’t. Take off my shirt, never! What’s next? Take off my pants and I could become a billionaire?”

 

Sebastian stepped forward, having been filled in on some details by Jim who was whispering into his ears. “If they are asking you to do something, just do it man,” the tall man grabbed Sherlock and forcefully pushed his shirt aside and exposed his chest, “There is no need to argue and bicker over everything. Here, Mycroft, take a look at this birthmark on Sherlock’s chest. Jim was saying your brother had a similar one?”

 

Mycroft was hyperventilating. “This is….this is……” he mumbled, eyes wide. A part of him wanted to believe it but another part was scared, oh-so-scared of being crushed by disappointment if this turned out to be a hoax or a misunderstanding. His little brother? _A prostitute?_ No way could this be possible, could it???

 

“This could be a tattoo,” he said, clearing his throat.

 

“You are being obtuse Mike,” John took charge of the conversation this time, “A tattoo? Really? This very shape, color, position on the chest, how could there be such a coincidence!! You’re famous for a quote you throw around, which is ‘ _Once you remove the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be true’_. This is one such moment when you must accept that this is improbable, but _not impossible_. Sherlock _is the baby brother_ you once had and lost. Still, in case you need to be convinced further, there is one more thing I can show you. In fact, Sherlock will show that to you.”

 

Sherlock was buttoning up, clearly in a state of disbelief. He didn’t seem eager to take one side or the other. A peculiar puzzled expression colored his face and he looked at Mycroft suspiciously. “What do you want me to show him? I have no other birthmarks on my body, except a small one on the butt. But that was where Pluto, Mrs. Hudson’s dog had bitten me. And who is this William?”

 

“The name tag,” John explained, a bundle of nerves by now and so eager to prove his theory that he was nearly manhandling Sherlock, “Take out your wallet, give me your wallet and let me show him the torn name tag right now.”

 

Sherlock hesitantly took the item out and John held it up for Mycroft to see.

 

“See this?”

 

Mycroft nodded, eyes wide.

 

“Believe me now?”

 

Another nod.

 

“Do you need any more proof?”

 

“I don’t.”

 

The firm but dulcet tone of a lady brought the conversation to an abrupt halt. All five men, still standing within the space of the bathroom, turned to look at Mrs. Eugenia Holmes. She was at the door, her eyes were glassy, she was looking at Sherlock like a drowning person at a lifeboat. Mycroft, Jim and the others stepped aside as she stepped into the bathroom, slowly proceeding towards a stunned Sherlock.

 

“Willy,” she whispered, “I knew it was you the moment I laid my eyes on you this morning. I am your mother, my _child_ , I am your _mummy_. You don’t remember me but…..hold on, your daddy needs to know, Jim please be a darling and call the old man over. Tell him to hold on to his heart because he’s going to get the most pleasant shock of all time.”

 

Mycroft began, “Mummy I think we must…..”

 

A stern, iron-clad look from the lady of the house made even the formidable Mycroft Holmes shut up and Sherlock was enveloped in a sea of hugs and kisses by the overwhelmed Eugenia who clung to her son as if she would never let go. John filled Sebastian in on the rest of the details while Mycroft just stood there in one corner, staring sightlessly at the scene unfolding before him. Moments later a very hyper Reginald Holmes appeared with Jim and joined the family hug, kissing the top of Sherlock’s head. At one point Eugenia grabbed Mycroft and added him to the hug, but Mycroft continued to wear the same expression of ‘what’s going on’.

 

“Hey guys what did I miss,” Greg showed up, looking flustered, “What is everyone doing inside a bathroom? Who is unwell? Can Dr. Watson help?”

 

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes,” John grinned and pointed at Sherlock.

 

Greg smiled broadly, as if overjoyed. But the moment he saw Mycroft’s face the joy vanished and turned into dubiousness. John, taken aback for a moment, suddenly got a brilliant idea to put all doubts to rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter takes us to a cheesy, happy, fairy tale ending. Hope you enjoyed the reunion of the Holmes family (just forgive Mycroft)


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlockello :)

Sherlock had gone into a state of semi-stupor due to the huge cascade of information, attention and explanations piled on him. The Holmes family had insisted that Jim and Sebastian and Sherlock and John stay back in their house as house-guests and allotted special rooms to them. Sherlock and John had been offered the room which belonged to William as a baby but it had been preserved exactly the same way it had been two decades ago, making it impossible for two grown men to live there.

 

So they had chosen to sleep in the room next door and the moment the door was locked behind them, Sherlock grabbed John’s arm and said, “I want to go home. Take me home. Please, take me back to London and _our home_ , now!”

 

“Honey, honey please listen to me,” John sat down on the bed and pulled Sherlock down on his lap, wrapping his arms tightly around him to convey their togetherness and his support in this, “I know you aren’t very easy around people, especially strangers, and this has been a majorly unsettling event for you! Your parents or not, they are people you just met this afternoon so it’s hard to be yourself around them. It feel like a whirlwind of fast-moving events, you don’t know if you’re putting your foot in your mouth by saying something, people are largely happy but some have doubts, it sucks to be in this position. But you need to be calm, let things settle down, wait for everything to sink in.”

 

“What if Mycroft is correct? What if this is just coincidence?”

 

“There is something that will prove your identity once and for all.”

 

“There is?”

 

“Uh-huhnn. You’re a clever lad, tell me what might it be!”

 

“Um…..wait….yeah…..got it! A DNA test? Paternity test!”

 

“Yes choco-muffin. That will shut them up once and for all.”

 

“Do you really think that I am……???”

 

John looked into Sherlock’s green orbs, saw the hesitant gaze and the unsure expression on his face, and kissed him lightly on the lips. “I know what you’re thinking,” he said, “What if the test comes out negative? What if all this celebration is in vain and you find out you’re not really a part of this family after all. In that case, just trust your John, or should I say ‘Jawn’. Has he ever put you through something that would hurt you in any way?”

 

“Yes,” Sherlock disarmingly curled up into John’s embrace and, despite his long legs sticking out in an ungainly manner, John managed to wrap him up in a proper embrace, “When you let me go from the Gatwick airport. You could have taken me home then, just as you can take me back home to Kensington now. I don’t want this, any of this. I just want to be with you Jawn, the new life we have found together is good enough for me. I never wanted free millions, I don’t even know what to do with this newfound affluence.”

 

He snorted, “The worst part is that fellow Mycroft is now my brother, which means there is no avoiding him.”

 

“It’s not about wanting something Sherl,” John explained, letting the Mycroft comment pass, “It’s about your rights. This is your inheritance, your family, your history as well as your future legacy. You will stay with me in Kensington, but this will always be your family home. It’s as much about you accepting them as it’s about them accepting you. Grieving parents get their son back and you have a family to fall back on, it’s a win-win for all. Now, all we need to do to legitimize your claim is a blood test and a DNA report. We shall ask Reginald to take a similar test, a paternity test as we call it, and after that nobody will dare doubt you.”

 

***

 

The soft knocks on the door had woken John up from a light doze he had fallen into. He quickly went to answer the door before the sounds woke Sherlock. “Mike?” He said as he opened it, “At this hour?”

 

“I know it’s 2 am but I can’t sleep,” Mycroft looked over John’s head, “Um…..can I see him for a moment please?”

 

“Yeah, I mean, yes please do, he is your brother after all,” John said awkwardly, stepping aside and allowing Mycroft to step in. The elder Holmes sibling walked right up to the bed and knelt next to it, on the side where Sherlock was sleeping. Hesitant and ultra-cautious at first, he slowly began to card his fingers through Sherlock’s curls before he touched the sleeper’s face, as if he was in sheer disbelief that this man was ‘real’. At one point he abruptly turned away and brushed off a stray tear from his cheek.

 

“I saw that,” John whispered.

 

“Something in my eye,” Mycroft said.

 

“If you insist.”

 

“What’s really bothering you? You’re afraid this is too good to be true, isn’t it? Well, as I thought merely weeks ago when Sherlock and I got together, when something is too good to be true, then it probably is. Give it a chance, don’t put on the glasses of cynicism so quickly. Still, it it’s so hard for you to believe this then I can help you with a fool-proof solution. DNA test. That can’t lie or deceive, can it?”

 

“You mean…..will he be okay with it?”

 

“He is cut from the same cloth as you are Mike. He is already okay with it. We have discussed this and he actually wants this so things can be proved one way or the other. It’s not nice to be doubted, you know.”

 

“My heart tells me he is my brother because….mummy showed me that portrait of grandpa’s and then I looked at him,” Mycroft sighed as he sat on a chair and held his head in his hands, “I wondered why I never made that connection before. I had met him at the Yard nearly a month ago and all I did was to insult him and behave in a very condescending manner. John, if he is indeed my brother then I owe him a fucking apology. I, dear sir, am the only reason why he’ll even have to go through blood tests to prove his status as a Holmes heir. I have a feeling he will ever forgive me, ever.”

 

John had a sudden realization. He realized that Mycroft’s doubts and uneasiness stemmed from the fact that he was still wallowing in self-pity and had a strong sense of self-blame. He felt awkward and embarrassed about having to explain to Sherlock why he had failed to protect the little William so many years ago. “Hey, listen to me,” John said in a kind and understanding tone, “Don’t expect him to warm up to you instantly but in the long run trust me things will be better. As for blaming you, nah, he won’t do that. He’s simply not that kind of a man.”

 

Mycroft smiled a little with relief.

 

“You are the only one who knows him well, despite we being his family. You have spent a brief but rather intimate month with him and it’s obvious as daylight that you two are very much in love. Tell me John, do you really think he will eventually get along with me?”

 

“Eventually, yes. But please make an effort.”

 

“I promise you, I will.”

 

“Tomorrow the DNA test will happen. In three days you’ll get the results.”

 

For a moment it seemed as if Mycroft wasn’t too keen to let the test happen. But after a few moments of deliberation, he thought better of letting his emotions rule him. Becoming the Iceman that he was known to be, he straightened his back and got up from the chair. “Yes,” he said in a businesslike voice, “That might be for the best. I will be in touch with you throughout. Um, are you guys staying back until then?”

 

“No, ‘fraid not,” John said, “Sherlock’s admission to Cambridge, submission of fees for his masters course and six surgeries I have to do this week, all these things can’t be done from here. We will be back next week, Saturday morning.”

 

“Make that Friday evening and we can have a nice family dinner, all of us,” Mycroft said as he walked out of the door, offering one of his rare smiles. He paused and looked at Sherlock who was hanging half way out of the bed by then, snoring softly. He had moved quite a bit in his sleep. “Can you rearrange his head on the pillow,” the barrister said sheepishly, “Or he will wake up with the worst crick in the neck known to man. Just-just saying.”

 

 _So you do care about him already!_ With a knowing grin, John nodded and replied, “Sure big brother, will do!”

 

***

 

Sherlock’s DNA reports came out confirming what everyone already knew. He was truly a Holmes.

 

An overjoyed Mr. and Mrs. Holmes planned a party in two weeks to introduce their darling son to the larger family and friends group.

 

That week went off like a whirlwind. Sherlock and John made a trip to Darwin college to seek admission for the year, for which the courses were due to start in another two odd months. With his earlier grades and the interview, the fees no longer being a problem, the admission was easily granted and all formalities related to it completed quickly and efficiently. Sherlock was given his entry card and student number and he also applied for resident status. He would stay in student’s lodgings for the week and return to London over weekends. John also spoke to the clinics and hospitals he visited and cut down on his assignments so he could spend a whole week every month with Sherlock at the town where he would be staying.

 

“I’ll use that week to become a consulting surgeon at a local hospital here,” John concluded, “Part time, of course.”

 

“We have two months,” Sherlock said, “Then I will have to stay away from you.”

 

“Only for five days silly. Isn’t this important? Don’t you wanna be a scientist?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Then?”

 

“I’ll miss you so much Jawn.”

 

“Don’t worry,” John said cheekily, “We will have phone sex every evening while we are apart. I can be just as good virtually as I am in person.”

 

“Done deal,” Sherlock’s face brightened considerably, then he winked and added, “With pleasure. Pun fully intended.”

 

John’s sister and her partner arrived for their stay the following weekend at John’s Kensington flat. Harriet was just like John, reserved and quiet but could be very chatty and lively with people she was comfortable with. Her earlier addiction and depression had been treated fairly well and she was clearly happy with her new life and partner, because she came across as clean-living and relaxed, stress and angst free.

 

Her partner Lucy was a bright, talkative but kind woman who cared about ‘Harry’ and was the yin to her yang. They took a shine to Sherlock instantly, though Lucy teasingly kept calling the embarrassed lad ‘the baby of the family’ because he was so much younger than three of them.

 

When John showed Harry the newly worked legal papers and transferred the ownership of their parents’ flat to her name, she was so overjoyed that she cried. Brother and sister hugged and spent several hours talking, catching up on all the years they had wasted by not staying in touch, and by the end of the marathon chat they came out as happier and more contented people. Sherlock and John also visited Mrs. Hudson and Victor and both of them were thrilled to hear about Sherlock’s roots, the family he had been reunited with and kept asking them to narrate the story of that ‘discovery’ again and again.

 

“Cinderella,” Mrs. Hudson exclaimed at some point, “From rags to riches.”

 

“More like Sherlockello,” Victor teased, “Look how he changed from pumpkin to prince.”

 

“Bottle gourd,” John teased.

 

Sherlock acted like a spoilsport and tried whinging but nobody took him seriously, so he had to look at the funny side of it and laugh along eventually.

 

Jim and Sebastian met them one evening for dinner where Jim announced that Sebastian had proposed and he had accepted. They had set a wedding date for that winter, two days after Christmas, and it would be a destination wedding. After much debate and discussions, they had settled on sunny Honolulu as the venue and Sherlock and John were invited instantly to attend the celebrations. Sherlock offered to be Jim’s best man and Sebastian asked for John, who said he would be honored to accept.

 

Later, as Sherlock and Sebastian had a smoke together, Jim paid the bill and looked at John who was still seated at the table. “We are even now,” he said with a glint in his dangerous, deep, dark eyes, “You saved my mam’s life and I helped your boy get back to his family.”

 

“I am thankful Jim,” John admitted, “Friends for life?”

 

“Hmmmm,” Jim pretended to think, then snickered, “Aren’t we already?”

 

He then went on to say proudly about his latest invention, which could potentially sell for 5 mill.

 

***

 

John had no idea how he got so lucky. When he walked into the flat that evening, he saw that the lights were off and scented candles were lit in bunches at strategic corners of the rooms, giving them an iridescent and a completely romantic, relaxing and soothing glow. There were flowers everywhere and mostly seasonal blooms whose mild whiff John adored and liked to sniff around the house, in every room.

 

He went to the kitchen and saw that takeout from his favorite Thai restaurant had been ordered and the table was set for dinner. Two cocktails, martinis to be precise, stood next to the sack of food with a small note next to it. It said ‘Bring the drinks to the bedroom Jawn’.

 

John was hard instantly. He knew Sherlock was in a romantic, sensual mood that night and some hot fornication was due before they sat down for the delicious food that filled half the lower floor with its fantastic aroma. He kicked off his shoes and socks, washed his hands, opened his blazer and belt and took off his tie. Then he swiftly went upstairs to the bedroom with the two martinis in his hands and kicked the door open with his foot. Although he had half expected the sight that greeted him, it didn’t stop him from letting out a hiss of arousal and lust. Sherlock was lying in bed, completely naked, already hard and ready for the next steps.

 

“Oh God,” John moved swiftly to the bed and handed one glass to Sherlock before downing the contents of his own glass.

 

But Sherlock smiled like a sexy cat and sprinkled some of the drink on himself, then arranged the olives over his chest, abs and crotch.

 

“Oh damn,” John did a facepalm, “So that was what this was meant for!”

 

“Next time we shall do tequila shots off me?” Sherlock asked innocently but there was nothing innocent in that request or suggestion. It prompted John to pounce on him and then devour the martini over Sherlock’s skin, splashing more and more of it and then licking off the droplets. He also ate the olives with great relish, then moved downwards to the impressive erection that was jutting out from between the dark curls of Sherlock’s downy mane.

 

“Jawwwnn,” Sherlock screamed as John took the last sip of martini and then his cock into his mouth. The feeling of the cold liquid and John’s hot tongue, the incredible sensations the wetness caused, made him crazy with need and ready to shoot within seconds. “Turn around,” he begged his man, “I wanna do that to you too.”

 

John knew he was on the edge and nothing felt more tempting than to shoot down Sherlock’s throat. “Your wish is my command my crazy little muffin,” he said affectionately, his voice hoarse from arousal, and turned to lie with his huge erection inches from Sherlock’s mouth.

 

They sucked on each other greedily, hankering for the thick semen that was no doubt just waiting to spray out, and began to play with each private parts. While Sherlock played with John’s sensitive balls, rolling them on his palm and squeezing them gently, John began to play with Sherlock’s twitching hole. As he tried to finger it, he almost went into spasms of thrill. Sherlock had prepared himself already and was nicely open and lubed up for him.

 

John was the first one to lose it. A guttural groan left him as he ejaculated into Sherlock’s mouth, making pumping thrusts of his hips. His arousal had doubled due to the eagerness displayed by Sherlock in the form of setting up everything and preparing himself in advance.

 

As he fucked Sherlock’s mouth through his orgasm, he somehow managed to keep fellating him nonstop. His moans sent vibrations up Sherlock’s cock and soon John felt the young man succumb to his climax, a jerk at his navel indicating it was going to be a rather big one. Sherlock let go of John’s softening cock to howl out his name as he shot spurt after spurt of semen down John’s throat. The doctor had to eventually pull off and stroke him through the rest of it because he was in the danger of choking. Sherlock created quite a racket of groans and shrieks which tapered down to softer sounds of hisses and moans by the time the aftershocks left his sated body.

 

“Ohhhh,” he breathed out, “So good!”

 

“You okay?” John asked as he crawled back up the mattress to lie next to his handsome lover, “Ready for round two in…..”

 

“Ten minutes?”

 

“I see you have my timed my refractory period perfectly Sherl.”

 

“You’re welcome Jawn!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the story. 
> 
> Next JohnLock story will be my spin on the classic, timeless, awesome 'Rebecca' by Daphne Du Maurier.


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